


Our Kingdom

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Song of the Seven Kingdoms [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Season 7 Clean-Up, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incest, Intrigue, Lactation Kink, Oral Sex, Other tags to be added, Politics, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:58:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: A new royal house. A threat of monsters from the far north. A savior returning to claim her birthright.The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros will face more ruin before it rises again.





	1. The Last Lions

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there!
> 
> Jaime and Cersei will never be the main pair but they are tagged because they will be together for a while.

Emerald eyes with the sharpness of spikes bored into Bernadette as she lowered her head. Fighting not to tremble, she took Her Grace’s hand. From a porcelain bowl of vivid crimson and blinding gold, she pulled one of the two rings it held.

The first was a thick band of gold, shaped in the mouth of a lion from where gleamed a gem of crimson so dark it looked black. It was Her Grace’s favorite, because it had been King Joffrey’s. The second was a ring the color of pale gold, but cooler to the touch than the metal of the first. Bernadette did not know what it was. Unlike the ring King Joffrey had worn, this had many tiny stones winking at it, like tiny golden suns. This went to her other hand.

Finished with dressing Her Grace, Bernadette and the other ladies curtsied, murmuring politely. Cersei Lannister gave a brief nod, dismissing them. Bernadette led the other ladies out of the chamber, off to oversee other tasks as expected of their position.

Cersei waited until the heavy double doors closed behind her sweet-smelling ladies before taking the golden goblet from the table. The wine was warm, a slow burst of flavor that wet her tongue and glided down her throat. The first, careful sip became bolder, with her golden head thrown back to drain all.

More glorious than fucking. Made her more whole than Jaime’s cock inside her.

She put the goblet down and opened the door. The Mountain stood to the side, stationed since last night. Dressed in armor of black and silver, he looked like liquid shadow.

Cersei strode ahead, hearing the surprisingly soft scrape of his boots on the floor as he followed her. She picked up her heavy leather skirt and climbed down the stairs. More guards waited at the bottom but dressed in the crimson and gold of House Lannister. They stood at attention as she walked past.

Though the sun was warm on her face, the air was as cold as death. The last time she felt its warmth was the day of her trial at the Sept. What a beautiful, golden day it should have been. The sun had never been brighter, it its shine reminding her of the Mother’s embrace as green fire consumed the Great Sept of Baelor. For three hours, she listened to the screams of mercy, smirking as she imagined Margaery Tyrell’s pretty face eaten by fire, her pretty bones turning to ash. Uncle Kevan croaking that pathetic, cowardly lion was capable. The High Sparrow. _Ah._ She toasted the air, in celebration of the son of a bitch.

She would have walked on the ashes of the sept and the bodies had Tommen not leaped to his death. He refused her this victory, even in death.

Cersei walked into the courtyard, her emerald eyes burning gold as the sun blasted right into them before she ducked her head. A wizened artist, on his hands and knees as he painstakingly painted the map of Westeros, heard her approach.

Her smile did not reach her eyes as his stiff, shaking limbs positioned themselves so he may give her a proper bow. She quite liked that. Then she gestured him to carry on.

The old man had made excellent progress since being hired. Her eyes narrowed spying the map of Winterfell, her ruby lips curling. Lions were mightier, fiercer, but somehow that wolf bitch Sansa had outwitted her, murdering her Joffrey and escaping justice. She would get the little dove back to King’s Landing. The Mountain, standing behind her, had been nothing but a dutiful, efficient protector. He should be rewarded with Sansa’s pained howls and whimpers.

She was thinking of what she had lost, how her lion had not protected even one of her children when she heard the careful tread of his boots. The artist made a bow to someone behind her. There was only one other person in the Red Keep who required this respect. The old man put the paintbrush back in a bucket and shuffled away.

Jaime came from behind, walking in a wide arc around her. Her beautiful, golden twin. Dressed in black leather as she was, the crimson collar of his shirt peeking from the neckline of his coat, he looked like a younger but more handsome version of their missed father.

Her face was placid as she met his suspicious stare.

“You’ve been back for weeks,” she said, unable to hide the brittle, accusatory note in her voice. “Yet this is the first I’ve truly seen you.”

He had watched her get crowned. She had expected him in her chamber that night, to comfort her over the death of their last baby boy. Did he think she took pleasure in Tommen’s death, in taking his crown? His betrayal had crushed her heart but never, not once, did she crave her last child’s death.

Jaime was last between her legs the night before Tommen banished him to Riverrun. It was a long night of pleasure and husky moans, her cunt getting wetter every time Jaime swore his heart to her, that they would never be apart for long this time. She could forgive their separation. He would be doing his duties to their son, to her. Unlike before when he had so recklessly challenged Ned Stark and abandoned her. Her brother was always a man of action.

Reckless. Dangerous. She used to love that about Jaime. And look what happened. Look where they were now.

Yet.

With what little was left of her heart, she could still love Jaime. He was all she had left.

She stared back at him. Jaime used to give her sly looks that conveyed his intent to worship and love only her. That he would fight the Stranger himself, for her. Of that she had always been sure.

Now she did not know.

Jaime didn’t speak, his emerald eyes mirroring the sharpness in her gaze before turning to the map at their feet.

“You don’t speak to me,” she continued. “Are you angry at me? Afraid?”

He looked back at her. “Should I be?”

He heard whispers too. Awed whispers. Terrified whispers. The explosion, at her orders. But what proof did those whispers have? She looked at him.

“What do you think, brother?”

They stared at each other again. She wanted to tear at his skin, to see the truth. He had never been the same after escaping Robb Stark. When before her Jaime would have fallen to his knees begging her forgiveness for leaving her defenseless during the siege, when the Tyrells tried to usurp power, he had looked stunned and aghast when she berated him for being so damned reckless. And he had sought Ned Stark’s blood over that worthless imp!

_You are my Warrior. You must fight only for me._

He flung Bran Stark from a tower to protect her and their children. But she remembered, as clearly as it had only been yesterday, when she demanded that he bring her Sansa’s head. He had just stared at her with the same inscrutable expression. Her rage and despair at Joffrey’s death had thrown a veil over something she should see clearly. A mother would never have enough steel to get used to the death of her children. Unless betrayed.

Ice gripped her heart as it struggled for sorrow over Tommen. There was only the black mouth of anger feeding on what was little left of her humanity. She glowered at her brother.

Something of Jaime had been lost for a long time. His kisses were still fire, his body attuned to hers, giving her the only pleasure she knew. But he was no longer the Jaime who had loved her for more than half their lives. Maybe that part of Jaime had been dead before he returned with that ugly cow.

 _That lumbering cow._ She was furious when Jaime refused to have her punished for his maiming. The Evenstar’s daughter did her best to protect him, he insisted. Cersei had tried to get Tywin to throw her in the Black Cells but her father wouldn’t even listen.

“What is this?” Jaime glanced at the map on the floor again.

“It’s what we’ve been waiting for our whole lives. What father trained us for whether he knew it or not.”

“He knew it.” Jaime said. “Made me memorize ever damned lake, town, forest and mountain.”

“It’s ours now. We just have to take it.” Cersei took a step toward him, her eyes softening when he didn’t step back. What looked like challenge flared from his eyes, but it was fleeting. Again, his stare returned on the map.

 _There it is._ Now she knew. Like all men, he resented a woman in power. A fact that held through the centuries and strung the rest of the world. Her twin was never an ambitious man but, by virtue of cock, assumed he held the reins. Never mind that she was his elder. And now, _the_ Queen.

“Take it?” Jaime scoffed. He didn’t flush from her glare.

“The Seven Kingdoms is ours.”

He shook his head. “Three kingdoms, at best.” He turned to her, tall and broad-shouldered, carved from a dream of black steel and crimson fire. “What have you done, Cersei?”

“Do you question the queen?”

“Is that what we are now? You the queen and I, what? Your subject?”

“If that is all you are I would have taken your tongue for refusing to speak to me since your return.”

Jaime wisely shut up, but the tensed line of his jaw indicated he wasn’t done. She mirrored his expression. Never had they looked so alike until now. Rather than growing out her golden hair, she kept it shorn. In the mirror she saw Joffrey, Tywin. A glimpse of Myrcella. Jaime was the closest, only taller, broader, and with a cock.

But she felt the farthest from him now than before. Jaime had a quick, sharp tongue. He never spoke to her with anger, even when she beat at his chest for crippling the Stark boy.

“We are that’s left of our House. The last Lannisters who count,” she continued. “All we have is each other, Jaime. All that had tried to keep us apart is gone, yet you push me away.”

“Even Tommen? Is that what you think of him?”

Cersei’s eyes were daggers. “He betrayed me.”

Jaime looked stunned. “He’s our—he’s our baby boy. How could you think that—”

“I loved him!” She blurted out, barely controlling her rage, her grief, her shoulders shaking. “I loved him,” she whispered. “But he’s dead and he betrayed us, Jaime. I never wanted his death. How could you think that of me? I kept him here. I had the Mountain guard him—”

“He still killed himself, didn’t he? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Jaime roared.

Cersei stilled. “What is it that you believe I’ve done?”

“Do you take me for a fool, sister?”

“I knew you spoke of nothing but lies and pretty words. Pleading at me to remain together because of the vultures circling us and how only together we can fight them off. I hated myself for not believing you. I should have known,” she seethed. “You only wish us side by side but you at the Iron Throne.”

Jaime looked confused. “I’ve never wanted that shit throne, Cersei.”

“How can you ask me to believe that when you think I’m. . .” She sniffed. “When you believe me to be most evil?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Jaime growled. “But you have no idea how dangerous your position is.”

“Dangerous?” She scoffed. “I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Three,” Jaime repeated, earning her glare. He didn’t back down and instead walked around the map, gesturing quite frantically. “Where the fuck are our allies, Cersei? How do you intend to hold _your_ three kingdoms without allies?”

“My three kingdoms, you say? Did I not just say that this, all of this,” she swung a hand to the map, “is ours to take?”

“You won’t hold what kingdoms you have without allies, Cersei. The Tyrells have fifty thousand swords ready to slice us. Walder Frey is dead. You do know what happened to him?”

She had. Nearly decapitated. And his men all dead from poison in their great hall. “He only sided with a clear victor. He deserved that knife to the throat.”

“Whoever’s behind it is no friend of ours.” Jaime told her softly, as if to not scare her. “There are no more Boltons, the Starks saw to that.”

“We have our little brother to thank for that, don’t we?” Cersei shot back. “The brother who murdered our father and left us open. The one you loved so much you helped him escape. He’s not only had Sansa escape but now he returns with that dragon bitch, and ships from that cunt Olenna and Ellaria.” It was sweet to see Jaime freeze. “Look what your love has done to us.”

“You still don’t believe Tyrion had anything to do with Joffrey’s murder?” He said in disbelief.

“He’s always been a monster. He took my mother—” The pain came close to choking her.

“She was mine too.”

“You speak of being together yet it’s you who tears us apart. You always leave me.”

“It was never my choice, Cersei. It never was.”

“I don’t believe you. Where were you when the High Septon humiliated me? When Tommen wished my trial? When Father was going to sell me to that mewling pillow-biter?”

“Are we going to hit each other with our transgressions? Is this your new royal decree?”

“Where was your cutting wit when they chopped off your hand?”

Cersei turned away from him and walked towards Winterfell on the floor. “The Starks have taken the North back and as we tear at each other they are gathering all their lords to march to King’s Landing. While you complain about what kingdoms I have, Daenerys and Tyrion will be arriving at our shores any day. Do you believe in us, Jaime?” She went to him until his breath feathered her face. “You wished me to fall on my knees when you bragged about killing people to get back to me. Do you not think I would have done the same, for us?”

“Us? _Our children are dead._ ”

“Then you and me. We belong together, and we will always be together.” She reached up to touch his golden hair, down to his firm cheek. Her eyes were soft. “We will get back everything and twice more than was taken from us. And from the dead bodies shall rise our dynasty. But only if you believe in us.”

She came closer, until her breasts touched his chest. He turned his head away as she tried to kiss him. “Cersei. Not here.”

“I am the Queen and we’re free, Jaime. Is this not what we’ve always wanted? Do you forget how you wanted me to tell the world that you are my choice?”

She had to hold back a victorious smile. He could resist her all he wanted but he would always lose. She was the most beautiful of the Seven Kingdoms and now the Queen. What man would not want to fuck her?

“You speak as if our children. . .”

She sighed and hugged him. Her heart was clamped in a fist and squeezing painfully. “I loved them. Believe me. I did. But they are dead, and we live. We are still together. I swear to you,” she whispered, turning his face back to her, touching his lips with her fingertips. “From blood and ashes, lions shall roar again.”

He looked at right in the eyes. _Victory._ Quickly, she gave him a taste of her lips. His kisses were hesitant, his head swiveling to the side to see who might catch them. She whispered his name and took his head in both hands, bruising him with more kisses. He tasted of the sun, melting what was cold and dead inside her.

As sudden as the kiss began, so was its end. Cersei backed away from Jaime and walked around the map. She clasped her hands to her front and peered at him, her gaze cool.

“Now. Tell me where that dragon cunt’s ships will go when she arrives.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Ice and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was Stormborn. Her first breath was the roughest of winds, her first taste of the world of salt and water. Before she could completely understand the duty of her name, she was told that home was on the other side of the world. A home where winters were long, summers inspired songs and spring too often merely a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strap on the Westeros Jet Pack. You'll see.

There was water in her lungs. Water hardening slowly. _Ice._

Daenerys struggled to bring air into her lungs. Every breathe hardened the water inside her, freezing her insides, climbing to fist her heart then strangle her throat. She gasped, frantic, pathetic wheezes as the ice spread to the back of her throat, settled on her tongue. Ice exploded like tiny diamonds from her pores, eating at her flesh. Icy spikes stabbed her in the eyeballs. Instead of plunging into an endless darkness, she was cast in a world of blinding white.

She opened her mouth to scream but the only sound that escaped was of shattered glass.

Cold fingers gripped her arm. Daenerys turned her head and shot up, her purple eyes huge. She gasped and panted air, cool, _salt-tinged air_ ,  trying to make sense of the assault of images, sounds and sensations. Someone was still holding her, shaking her. Just as she realized that the rocking underneath was the ship traversing the water, someone spoke. “My lady.”

The tone was urgent. Desperate. Daenerys blinked and heaved a sigh of relief. “Missandei.”

“Are you alright, my lady?” Missandei’s dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at her with worry. “You were thrashing. As if you were drowning.”

Daenerys shook her head, ran her fingers down her silver hair. The strands were damp. “I’m fine, Missandei. I apologize for the disturbance.” Seeing the light outside the window, she asked, “How long since the sun has risen?”

“Not very long, my lady.” Missandei got up from the bed to pour her water. Daenerys listened to the soft flash of water into the goblet, shuddering still from the vividness of her dream. She murmured her thanks to her handmaiden and advisor before sipping the cool liquid. For the first time, she discovered how parched her throat was. The goosebumps on her skin indicated how chilled she was yet her throat felt as dry and painful like from the endless days in the Red Waste.

 “I would like another,” Daenerys handed the goblet back to her. As Missandei went to pour again, Daenerys got up from the bed. “There is ice in the salt of the air.”

“Lord Tyrion has remarked that the days will be colder as we approach Westeros,” Missandei returned to give her the water again. The second sip soothed her throat.

Her Hand had pressed her to ensure that her army was equipped for the harshening cold temperature. Gold from her supplies from Qarth, and from her allies brought them provisions and foodstuffs, and proper clothing to meet the approaching winter.

From a wardrobe of whisper-soft silks apt for the warm climate of Essos, she also procured winter clothes for herself. As Missandei prepared today’s clothes and shoes, Daenerys rinsed her face from a basin of water. The cold liquid was a flare of ice, making her freeze for an instant as she remembered the nightmare.

In no time at all, Daenerys was ready. Missandei opened the door for her. Two Unsullied flanked the doorway, quick to stand at attention as she walked past. Grey Worm waited for her at the end of the hallway.

Her army now included the Dothraki among the Unsullied but when it came to her protection, her fullest trust lay in Grey Worm. She had to bite back a smile as he glanced at Missandei before preceding her.

She climbed up the steps leading to the deck. Armed Dothraki stood waiting for her. Unlike the Unsullied with their fitted black leather and long sleeves, the Dothraki insisted on keeping their muscled arms bare, with only thick fur their protection. She walked past them, with Missandei following close by.

“Tell Lord Tyrion I wish for him to join me in my meal,” she told the girl. Missandei nodded and flitted away to summon her Hand.

Grey Worm only had to look at the Dothraki and Unsullied on board for a table to appear, and then chairs. Daenerys remained standing as food and wine were brought out. The aroma of fresh shellfish drifted to her nostrils as Dothraki handmaidens put them on the table. Like their men, they opted to keep their arms bare, but also their legs. Tailored leather replaced the ragged linens they used to wear, and as well as fur and hand-tooled boots. The women bowed at Daenerys before she dismissed them.

She strode to the edge of the deck, looking into the sea.

In Essos, the sky was clouded, save for feathery wisps of clouds. The sun felt closer. As the days between her and Mereen grew to weeks, the sun seemed to drift farther. It hung high in the overcast sky. This was probably why the cold never really went away.

From her count, it was close to three weeks since leaving the East. Her ship, on which black sails painted with the red, three-headed dragon of her family sigil, led the way for others. To the left were the orange sails of House Martell, to the right, the green and gold of House Tyrell. Surrounding them were the ships of House Greyjoy, black sails with the white of the kraken at the center.

She was Stormborn. Her first breath was the roughest of winds, her first taste of the world of salt and water. Before she could completely understand the duty of her name, she was told that home was on the other side of the world. A home where winters were long, summers inspired songs and spring too often merely a dream. Viserys sold her to go home to this strange world. Together, they would rule over the land stolen from them, he promised. Everyone who had betrayed them will meet justice from fire and blood. _Lannister. Stark. Baratheon. Tully._

The screech from high in the sky had her looking up again. Her children, regal, powerful creatures once believed to be lost. She watched them sketch a path with their wings, gliding in the air like silk.

For all of Viserys’ cruelty, she did wonder how it would be if her were still at her side. To taste the home she never thought would ever see.

“Your Grace.”

Daenerys turned and looked at Tyrion Lannister. Hardly bigger than a child, but with a biggish head his narrow neck and narrow shoulders struggled to hold up. The rocking motions of the ship had him staggering slightly on his stubby legs as he approached.

In this ship alone were men more than twice his size, with fists able to crush his skull without drawing another breath, arakhs and swords that could split him in two. But he matched their courage. His size made him vulnerable in any fight, but his weapon was his mind, honed and hewn sharper than Valyrian steel.

“Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys greeted him. She gestured at the table where their meal and wine waited. “If you would care to join me.”

“I will be honored.”

A chair was pulled out for her, and then Tyrion. Wine was poured in their goblets before food was placed on their respective plates. Daenerys gestured at him to proceed, used to his habit for the drink already.

“How long before we reach Dragonstone?” Daenerys asked him. “There is ice in the air, and it grows colder each day. We must reach Westeros before this winter you have been warning us about begins. We still have enough supplies, but we can not be careless. Not when we will be at war as soon as we arrive.”

“The waters and wind make the journey more turbulent than usual, Your Grace. But the wind is with us” Tyrion replied. “I know of the ice too, and worry. But our navigators are Greyjoys. They promised we would reach Dragonstone in just a little over a fortnight. It should be any day now.”

“Let’s hope their calculations are correct, as our alliance with them.”

“Is Your Grace having second thoughts about Yara and Theon Greyjoy?”

“Are you telling me you no longer have doubts?” Daenerys pointed out. “I was reading again the history of Westeros last night. Greyjoys destroyed the Lannister fleet. They’ve also had quite a long history of rejecting the authority of kings.”

“That is true. Yet Your Grace has granted the Iron Islands independence.”

“Because Yara asked me.” Daenerys looked at the sea. “I have no reason to doubt her word. It is difficult in any place in this world for a woman to be in command. She has a hundred ships and their men following her. I don’t believe any of them would follow a leader that is not trusted.”

“War makes allies of our enemy’s enemies.” Tyrion mused.  

Daenerys smirked and looked at him. His own lips were quirked in a smile, but it did not reach his mismatched eyes. “Indeed. But only until those allies betray us.”

“The Greyjoys seemed to have skipped the treachery of their bloodline,” Tyrion said. “As for friends that could betray us, we need not look in my sister’s camp to find an answer.”

She watched him sip the wine, knowing that ahead was another unpleasant discussion. They had been through this.

“Ellaria and the Sand Snakes merely took justice in their hands,” she said.

“That justice should not harm little girls, Your Grace.”

“Would you be as mistrustful of them as you are now had they murdered another? Someone who wasn’t your niece?”

“They murdered their prince, Your Grace.” Daenerys grimaced as she felt a flare of sympathy upon the pain on Tyrion’s face when she mentioned his family. “He was wise to counsel against war.”

“Yet for all his avoidance of it, war has come closer. Peace, I am learning, only lasts for as long as all parties’ desires are satisfied and no one else wants more. The Martells have also murdered a relation of Olenna Tyrell’s yet you don’t hear her calling for the heads of Ellaria and her daughters. They are enemies who have become allies. In war are deaths. We have no choice when the Stranger comes.”

“Myrcella was innocent. A child. Your Grace, I know it is not my place to ask--”

“You’re right. It is not. I regret the death of your niece, Lord Tyrion. But we are already at war. It is time we set aside our differences for the greater good. You swore to help me break the wheel. We will have nothing but in-fighting if each transgression from the Houses sworn to me have these scores to settle. Let me remind you that your father had my niece and nephew murdered too, far more brutally than your Myrcella. I should have had your head sliced from your body yet here you are with me. Sharing my wine. Giving me counsel.”

It was a difficult topic for them. Tyrion wanted Ellaria and the Sand Snakes dead. Daenerys could not lose an ally. Only three Houses had sworn to fight for her. If she gave in to Tyrion’s demand for justice, she would lose men. To take back her birthright, she needed every fighting man there was.

“If there are more to die, and more will die, Lord Tyrion, I’d rather not have the Stranger begin taking from me. We come to save Westeros, not destroy it.”

Suddenly, the sharp cry of a raven pierced the air. They watched the bird fly towards their ship. The Dothraki and Unsullied watched with fascination as it neared them, before landing on a barrel next to Grey Worm. Tied around its leg was a scroll.

He took it and walked to Tyrion, holding out his hand. Tyrion unrolled the scroll as Daenerys watched.

“Yara says we approach Dragonstone.”

Dragontone. Daenerys stood none too quickly from her seat, rushing to the edge of the ship for her first glimpse of the adopted land of her ancestors.

The sun burned right in her eyes, yet she did not fling a hand to protect them. She stared straight on, hungry for the sight of this strange land that she already felt an affinity to. The gods were with her, she thought, feeling a quickening from deep inside her as the gray clouds choking the sky parted to allow a beam of light.

The wind whistled behind her, its sound almost as sweet as birdsong. The ship dipped and burst across the water, pushing against the waves futilely fighting to keep her away. She didn’t remove her gaze from where the sun shone, sure it would point her to Dragonstone.

“What do you know of Dragonstone, Lord Tyrion?” She asked.

“The Royal Fleet used to be anchored there until the Battle of Blackwater. It has been decimated since.” Tyrion sounded grim. “Your grace, if I may speak freely?”

Daenerys sighed, casting a look in the empty horizon before looking at him again. “Do you know of any other way?”

Her Hand had the grace to at least look embarrassed. Or as embarrassed as he could manage. “I know only too well of one’s sentimental ties to home, and with such a history. But we can never stay in Dragonstone.”

“Do you worry about space for our ships? You just said it used to house the Royal Fleet.”

“Space is not the issue, Your Grace. It is supplies. Do you expect war from the moment we arrive?”

Daenerys looked at him suspiciously. “The Seven Kingdoms are mine to take, Lord Tyrion. I don’t see the advantage of delays.”

“At this moment, Cersei is gathering lords and their armies, having them swear loyalty to her. She is also in the capital, where food and drink have been stored long before winter. She and her armies could hold off for years because of provisions, Your Grace. If we are to stay in Dragonstone, we only wait for death.” Seeing her hesitation, he pressed. “Winter is coming. The sea promises food but in winter that becomes a lie. You need fresh water. The Red Keep is fortified and it can and will hold off a long siege unless you cut off what matters most to its residents and their queen. Water, Your Grace. Food.”

“Your plan delays my claim, Lord Tyrion,” she protested.

“My plan ensures your survival and casts you as a benevolent queen. War takes lives. But you just said you’d rather that the Stranger not begin with you. This is how. Cersei rules the population by fear, Your Grace. Be a leader that they could respect. I want all of Westeros to see you as I: a leader to believe in.” Tyrion took her hand, his eyes looking up at her pleadingly. “When I sailed to you, I was a man who had ceased to believe in anything good. But I met you. I never thought that in my life I would lay eyes and serve a leader I truly believe in. You will not win the hearts of the people if you come with fire and blood.”

Suddenly, a Greyjoy ship captain cried out. The wind stole his voice, but Daenerys heard one word. “Dragonstone.”

Tyrion let go of her hand and Daenerys turned back to the sea. Her breath caught. There it was.

Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal screamed, startling her. But they rushed ahead in the sky, towards the land they too recognized as theirs.

Rising black and magnificent from a surface of sand and stone was a castle. Daenerys knew not how the castles in Westeros looked but she sensed none of them came close to the vision before her. It stretched to the sky, constructed as if to take flight. They were still too far for her to discern its final details but there was a leap in her blood. She may never have laid eyes on its interior herself but she had lived in her mother’s womb in their refuge in this castle.

When they were close enough, the sun was right on top of the castle. A boat was readied. She climbed inside where Missandei, Grey Worm, four other Unsullied, two Dothraki and four Greyjoy men to bring them to shore, followed by Tyrion Lannister. Daenerys refused to sit down, determined to reach her home on her two feet.

There was only the sound of waves crashing upon the shore, drowning out her breath and the gallop in her heart. Closer and the castle was even more imposing. It was as dark as a moonless night, erected as if to mock daylight.

Overhead, her dragons flew in a circle around the castle. Waiting for her, it seemed. Daenerys felt the water beginning to ease as they neared the shore.

Then she felt herself shake.

Resolutely, she kept her eyes on the castle. But something about her must have given away for soft, small hand grasped hers. She glanced at Missandei, who nodded at her. Gratefully, she squeezed her hand back and kept holding it until the boat had to be pulled up the shore.

Grey Worm was the first to alight, offering a hand. Daenerys let go of Missandei and allowed Grey Worm to wrap his rough, big hand around hers. Her boots fell on sand. Even the sand was felt different, and she had always thought sand was sand wherever in the world.

Daenerys let go and walked ahead of her people, her eyes once again riveted by the glorious castle before her. She no longer heard the sea and the wind, but the cries of dragons and the swoop of fire.

Slowly, she walked on legs trembling from the newness of strange sand. The sun surrounded her yet there was a cold embrace that clung with the neediness of a child, or perhaps the protection of the Mother. Daenerys remembered her dream, of the ice that took hold of her body as she was flung in a world that was white and barren.

As Daenerys bent to lay a hand on the sand of a home she had always known, Drogon screamed and flew right over her, casting a shadow that seemed to swamp over the whole island, a swoop of night in the light.

 

****  
You had to be in power to know the burden of it, Jon Snow thought, fighting to stop himself from taking another drink of ale. He stared at the northern lords squabbling in the Great Hall of Winterfell, each protest ringing louder as it bragged about the bravery and loyalty of their House in the Battle of the Bastards.

Beside him, his half-sister Sansa Stark stared at the lords with an inscrutable expression. Little emotion had passed her face since they had taken Winterfell back from the Boltons. He wondered if she felt as dead as he did. Life did not flit out of her but he knew, only too well, of the crimes Ramsay Bolton had inflicted on her body. The rage rising in him over this dishonor, this willful cruelty, had the fire threatening to erupt. For a moment he saw red—the faces of the lords and the walls of the Great Hall, even Sansa and her bodyguard lady warrior Brienne of Tarth bathed and dripping in the color of blood. The moment passed too quickly, as it tended to do.

Jon stood up, the action enough to bring silence in the room.

“Your Grace, if I may speak,” Yohn Royce asked as he got up from the bench. Jon gave him a slight nod and the old knight continued. “The Karstarks and Umbers betrayed the North. Their castles should be torn down and not a stone left standing.”

Before Jon could speak, Sansa surprised him with her answer.

“The castles commit no crimes. We need every fortress we have in the war to come.” Addressing Jon, once again startling him, she said, “You should give the Last Hearth and Karhold to new families. Families that rose against Ramsay.”

He didn’t miss the admonishment in her tone, slight as it was. He and his sister may not fight like lions but battle with the stealth akin to House Reed. Keeping the impatience out of his voice, he answered, “The Umbers and Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries. They have kept faith for generation after generation—”

“And then they broke faith,” Sansa pointed out, refusing to let him finish.

Directly addressing her this time, he said, “I will not strip them of their ancestral lands because of the crimes committed by a few reckless sons.”

Sansa refused to yield. “So there is no punishment for treason and there is no reward for loyalty?”

Through their exchange, the entire room could only watch them, until she spoke last. Jon caught Brienne of Tarth nodding at Sansa. When she realized his eyes were on her, she looked right back at him before dropping her gaze to the stone floor.

“The punishment for treason is death,” Jon said to Sansa. “Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harald Karstark died on the field of battle.”

“They died fighting for Ramsay.” Sansa was speaking through gritted teeth. “Give the castles to the families of men who died fighting for you.”

He would have word with his sister later for daring to question him so openly. Jon looked at her again to address the lords, now murmuring and nodding in their direction. He would have dissent and find himself with a knife in the heart again if he let Sansa continue with her disrespectful behavior. There was no Red Woman to bring him back to life.

“When I was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch I executed men who betrayed me, I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. And I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father’s sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision and my decision is final.”

He ignored the appalled expression on Sansa’s face and he continued with the business at hand.

“Ned Umber,” he called. “Alys Karstark.”

The children of the northern betrayers were careful to stand. Ned Umber had his head bowed in shame, reminded once again of his father’s betrayal. Alys Karstark struggled too with bravery at the hate falling on her like swords. Jon waved them close.

“For centuries our families have fought side by side in the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark. To serve as our bannermen, and to come to our aid whenever called upon.”

Jon looked at the children, for that was they were. Children still yet also no more due to the war coming closer. Alys, despite the tremor in her hand, drew out the ancestral sword from its scabbard, resting the tip of the blade on the ground as she knelt. Ned Umber did the same.

“Stand. Yesterday’s wars don’t matter anymore. The north needs to band together. All the living north. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?”

“Now and always,” the children answered. Jon bade them to return to their seats.

“My lords, you are here for a matter true urgency. I want every Northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragonglass. Dragonglass kills White Walkers and is more valuable to us now than gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons from it,” he declared. “Everyone, from age ten to sixty will drill daily with spears, spikes, bow and arrow.”

“It’s about time we taught these boys of summer how to fight,” Lord Glover remarked with approval. This time the lords were cheering and nodding at what Jon was saying.

“Not just the boys,” Jon said quietly. “We can’t defend the north when only half of the population is fighting.” As he spoke, he snuck a glance at Brienne. She looked surprised, and for once gazed at him with something that was almost respect.

Glover, who only a moment ago met his proposition with enthusiasm, now stood up as if with great difficulty. “You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter’s hand?”

Small and fierce Lyanna Mormont, the youngest leader of a Northern House at only ten, shot to her feet. “I don’t plan to just knit by the fire while men fight for me. I might be smaller of the man, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you.”

“Indeed you are, my lady. No one is questioning—”

“Then I don’t need your permission to defend the north,” she fired back at the chastised elder lord. Her stature may be slight and small, and her voice sharp as fresh-forged sword because it was still soft and very much a child’s. She stood in her furs with the confidence of battle-hardened men twice her size. “We will begin training every man, woman, boy and girl in Bear Island.”

The room swayed to her side. Perhaps northern women knew not of subservience. A tightness settled in his chest, not unlike the pain of the blade plunging repeatedly in him. But he remembered not his death but a life. A life that seemed complete within a cave, a warm pool and a woman who was fire from her head down to her toes.

He welcomed Lyanna Mormont’s sharp tongue but was simply wary of his sister’s. He wondered if it was bitterness and regret, for she had relinquished her claim to leadership of the north on account of being a girl while he, though a bastard, was a boy.

“While we prepare for attack, we need to shore up our defenses,” Jon said. “The only thing standing between us and the army of the dead is the Wall and the Wall hasn’t been manned for centuries. I am not the King of the Free Folk,” he said, finding Tormund Giantsbane’s pale, lined faced in the crowd. His hair was as bright red as ever, but no redder than the shade of a beloved he still dreamed about.

“Aye,” Tormund drawled, proud in the mishmash of fur and rough leather he wore, as if they were as fine as the unique and fine armor and robes of the lords surrounding him. “You want us to man the castles for you.”

“The last time we saw the Night King was at Hardhome. The closet castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.”

“Then that’s where I go,” Tormund agreed before sitting down. He smirked at the lords, whose resentment of him were clear.

The lords were dismissed soon after. Jon went out of the hall, and Sansa was close on his heels. He knew of the lecture that waited for him. His sister had developed a fondness for it.

“You are my sister but I am the king now,” he told her over his shoulder, beating her for once in speaking first. “When you question my decisions in front of the other lords you undermine me.”

“So, I can’t question your decisions anymore?” Sansa asked as he turned around to face her.

“Of course, you can,” he said in exasperation. “But—”

“Joffrey never let anyone question him. Do you think that made him a good king? Robb—” she took a breath, for it was still hard to speak of their brother, and to have been murdered. “Father. You have to be smarter than him, and Robb. I loved them and I miss them but they made stupid mistakes and lost their heads for it.”

“I can’t believe you liken me to Joffrey.”

“I do not. You are good at this, Jon. Being King. But—”

“Sansa,” he brushed past her, shaking his head. “And how do you want me to be smarter? By listening to you?”

His sister knew nothing of war. Indeed, she had been hostage of Joffrey and Cersei, she had been tortured in mind and beaten in body. Ramsay had treated her no better than an animal. But in these wars Sansa only had herself to think about. She knew nothing about being a leader, of making difficult decisions for the good of the many. She had learned the harshest of lessons but so had he. But he was in the position to implement what he had learned, not she.

“Would it be so difficult? Learning from them? Listening to me?”

He was staring at her, trying to find an answer when Maester Wolkan approached. “Your Grace,” he held two scrolls. “Ravens from King’s Landing and The Reach.”

“The Reach?” Sansa asked as Jon opened the first of the scrolls. “Queen Margaery is dead. That could only come from Olenna.”

Maester Wolkan bowed and Jon dismissed him. He read the scroll and looked at Sansa.

She had been friends with the young queen. Jon knew little of the Tyrells but if they had tried to engineer an escape for his sister, he could look upon them as allies. But with Margaery and her brother dead, how could Olenna lead what remained of their House?

Jon read aloud from the first scroll, needing to believe the increasing direness of the situation with every world. “Cersei of House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Sansa turned pale. “What does she want?”

“Come to King’s Landing, bend the knee or suffer the fate of all traitors.” Jon looked out into the white horizon that was Winterfell, now choked in snow that rose higher by the hour. It had been years since he first sighted Robert Baratheon’s approach. Catelyn had banished him to recesses of Winterfell, for to have a bastard within the presence of the king and Cersei was an insult.

“We’ve been consumed by the enemy to the north that we forgot about the one in the south.” Sansa muttered.

“I’ve seen the Night King, Sansa. Believe me, if you’ve seen him too, you’d think of little else.”

“We still have the Wall between the Night King and there’s nothing between us and Cersei.” She gripped the snow-covered ramparts until her knuckles almost blended with it.

“There’s a thousand miles and winter between us and Cersei. The Lannisters are a southern army. They will never range this far north.” As certain as he sounded, Jon felt an inkling of a doubt.

“ _I_ know her. If you’re her enemy she’ll never stop until she’s destroyed you. Everyone who has ever crossed her she’s found a way to murder.” The explosion of the Great Sept was an accident, it was claimed but Sansa never believed it.

He was used to a sister who stood up to him, who refused to bend and kept beating at him until he listened. But not. . .not like this. Watching anger and fear scud across her face, the first of the emotions she had been hiding from him revealed since their return to Winterfell. But he spoke exactly what he thought.

“You speak as if you almost admire her.”

Sansa blinked and gave him her clear, blue gaze. Jon shuddered. They were almost the blue of the Night King’s.

“I learned a great deal from her.” She whispered, as if confessing a secret shame. She stared at the other scroll in his hand. “Who writes from the Reach?”

Jon unfolded the scroll. In his shock, he could only give it to her.

Sansa took it, read and looked at brother, surprised too by the hand that had written the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why would Tyrion tell Daenerys go to The Reach? Why not stay in Dragonstone, like in the show?
> 
> Dragonstone is a good strategic point because it can hold off the invasion of King's Landing by water. When the show put Daenerys there, I thought that there would be a battle soon after in King's Landing, making use of the ships provided by Houses Greyjoy, Tyrell and Sand. I do get why Tyrion emphasized diplomacy but for a war that seems destined to last for ages, Dragonstone is not ideal, supply-wise.
> 
> Volcanic soil should be fertile but Dragonstone is rock and thus, not ideal for farming. Its food source would be mainly fish. Having never fished in my life, I can only assume that water gets more difficult to traverse in winter, and the fish might be fewer. There's also the possibility of lakes and rivers freezing, so Daenerys' armies will not have fresh water supply. That's a death sentence.
> 
> Since Show!Tyrion wants Daenerys to commit to an economic blockade, it's not really possible from Dragonstone. From here, they can cut off imports from other ships going to Blackwater Bay, but the show makes no mention of it. This fanfic is a way of filling in the blanks and taking it in the direction that it might go, but also with my own take. The Reach is the bread and basket of Westeros. So why not cut off the food supply beginning right from the source? Daenerys is already allied with Olenna. 
> 
> I think it makes more sense for Daenerys to drop by Dragonstone, walk around briefly, then do as Tyrion suggests and continue to The Reach. Right from there she can begin and keep the blockade, plus she is also more accessible to other lords who may be potential allies. I would ditch the Dragonstone visit but what would be the point of Daenerys sailing to Westeros without stopping at her ancestral home first? So she sees it. But war leaves no time for sentimentality. 
> 
> I also advanced the scene from the show where Tyrion confronts Ellaria and the Sand Snakes about Myrcella's murder. This discussion is best done between Tyrion and Daenerys, so we have that scene. Their discussion about going to the Reach IS clunky, I gotta admit. Sorry!
> 
> ****  
> Jon's and Sansa's lines in this fanfic are taken from the show, and their internal thoughts are of course, mine. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Queen You Shall Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All your life you’ve been taught that the Seven Kingdoms belong to you. Your brother sold you to those painted savages for the army that would help him take it back. But somehow, that army became yours. And more armies. You have abolished slavery. Brought justice. But I ask you. Does that make you queen?”  
> “I am a Targaryen, Lady Olenna. The Seven Kingdoms is mine.”

You would not know that winter was coming to the Sapphire Isle at first breath.

You must be an islander to know the taste of the salty air and discern from it the faintest hint of ice. The wind had acquired a strange dance too. Swift. Harsher. A chokehold instead of embrace.

Tarth’s distance from the rest of Westeros would protect it from the worst of winter. Rivers and lakes would freeze, vegetation would die. Human and animal unlucky to fall asleep far from fire shall never wake up. But Tarth would be untouched. Winter would only be the sharp bite in the air, colder days and nights of ice. The people would not starve.

They had to survive.

Selwyn Tarth was watching the bustle and active trade on the port from the window of the council room in Evenfall Hall. Voices haggling and protesting over prices and the roar of the waves could be almost soothing sounds if not for the scroll in his hands. He had been waiting for a tremor, that first crack in his resolve.

The other nobles of Tarth filed in one by one, taking their seats at the table. He turned to take his seat at its head, dropping his eyes on the coat of arms of House Tarth painted on its surface. A quartered field of azure and rose, the suns on the latter and white crescent moons on blue. Not as fierce as lions or wolves, he thought. But when creatures no longer held dominion over the land, the sun would still rise. The moon still a guide in the night.

_Golden days and white nights._

Selwyn looked away, turning to the men seated around him. On his right was Ser Goodwin, the master-at-arms who taught his Brienne swordplay, and next to Ser Goodwin was a distant cousin, Ser Quentyn. Seated across from them, and by himself, was the maester, Aendros.

“My lords, we have known for a while this day will come,” Selwyn began, unrolling the raven scroll in his hands to put it on the middle of the table. Despite the open windows of the chamber, there was only the weak hush of the wind. It hardly fluttered the small piece of parchment.”

The Evenstar, Lord Selwyn Tarth, looked at the words on the raven scroll again, though he had already memorized them at first read. He looked up, sapphire eyes reflecting a steadfast certainty that could be read as courage. There was no faltering in his gaze. No resignation. Every pair of eyes in the room reflected this sureness.

“Cersei has commanded every lord and head of House to bow to her,” Quentyn said.

“This is your last chance,” Selwyn looked at every man in the eye. “If anyone in this chamber no longer believes in what we have agreed upon, he is free to leave and bend the knee to her. He shall face no violence or any consequence from me and everyone else in this chamber.”

A breath. Two. Three. The sun seemed to spill in the room, bathing them all in golden light.

“As sure as the tide, and the stars of the night, my lord,” Goodwin said quietly. Quentyn and Aendros echoed him, all of them looking at Selwyn with a mix of admiration and trust.

Selwyn bowed his head. “You have honored and humbled me with your loyalty. With what time remains in me, I shall see to it this debt will never be forgotten.”

“There is no debt for us to collect, my lord,” Aendros told him.

Selwyn nodded. “Yet know that my gratitude know no bounds for what I have asked of you. Now. How goes the evacuation?”

“The women and children are now with Queen Daenerys, as agreed. They have arrived at Highgarden safe and healthy. Lord Tyrion assures that they will be protected, whether needed or not.” Quentyn announced. “Some commonfolk have sailed for Essos, but they are very few. The rest. . .”

His voice trailed off.

Selwyn was grim. “They have elected to stay?”

“Only the men and servants in Evenfall Hall and the rest of the standing army, my lord.  Most of the commonfolk have decided to sail north.”

“North!”

In his shock, Selwyn shot to his feet. The sea was more treacherous with winter at their door. To go north at this time was to invite the Stranger.

“Lady Brienne is a sworn knight for Lady Sansa. They believe that if her place is at the side of the wolf, then so should they be, Lord Selwyn.”

Selwyn shook his head. “The Starks and allied Houses will never bend the knee to Cersei. The people are putting themselves right in the path of her wrath.”

“Does not the Evenstar do the same? Are the people not only doing what you have?”

“We are not going north. We remain here.”

“We remain at your side without question,” Goodwin told him. “The people wish to be with Lady Brienne for the same reason.”

Selwyn gripped the window’s frame as he looked out into the sea, his thoughts on his only daughter. He had come close to being wrenched apart after reading her last letter. Sworn now to Lady Sansa Stark, she could no longer be his heir. _I beg you, dear father, to never loathe nor regret the lessons of knighthood, honor and courage taught to me,_ she had written. She was _his_ Evenstar, the light of his life. He had taught her too well. He chose to find pride in that, and to honor her wishes.

By taking herself out of the line of succession, he was free to get a new bride and sire children with her. His daughter thought she had disappointed him with all her failed matches. He should have told her the disappointment was in the men who could not see past her mannish height and form, her skill with the sword. Quentyn made it known Brienne had too much freedom for a lady. Selwyn countered that the loss of his children was a lesson that all manner of protection in the world would never stop the Stranger. He could only imagine Brienne’s many close brushes with the Stranger ever since allowing her to serve and be in Renly Baratheon’s Rainbow Guard.

It was in his bones to serve the people of Tarth until his dying days. He did not expect they’d willingly taunt the Stranger by going north. He had Daenerys take the women and children with her, in exchange for replenishing her supplies and with more men.

“How many? Are there women and children?” Selwyn asked, his chest tight.

“We cannot say, my lord. But they are mainly able men and women.”

Few enough. Yet still too many innocent lives.

With a weariness pressing on him like a mountain, Selwyn went back to his seat. “Continue with the evacuation. Ensure what gold we still have are distributed to the people. All that Cersei Lannister will take from Tarth are bones and ash.”

 

******  
The scent of gold roses permeated Highgarden. Blooming fully and wildly throughout the grounds of the castle, they were like little golden bits of sunlight in the day. Fresh roses replenished every vase each day. Carved wooden roses and vines were incorporated in the furniture and even all window frames, such that no one forgot that they were on Tyrell land, and within their reach.

Light as golden as the rose awashed the council room, where Daenerys’ House allies have gathered. Ellaria Sand lounged lazily on a chair carved with roses and vines that seemed ready to come alive and strangle her on command, one slim leg slung over an arm upholstered in green silk. Gone were the peach dresses that bared arms and had deep necklines. A heavy jacket in black embroidered with sparkling threads of red and gold depicting the spear thrust in the sun covered her shirt, breeches the color of deep peach and knee-high boots the color of dark blood.

Next to her was Yara Greyjoy, her dark hair dark and limply flowing over shoulders wrapped in gray cloak. The rest of her clothes were black and grim, like storm clouds promising to drown the Seven Kingdoms.

Daenerys sat at the head of the table, Tyrion on her left and Olenna on her right. Olenna frowned as Tyrion refilled his goblet with wine, at the moment the image gathering such anger in her, like a fist ready to strike. He may have traded the crimson and gold of his House for the black and red of Targaryen but his white-blond hair was still a glaring reminder of his House, and where his true alliance might lie. She did not doubt his intelligence. Her trust was another matter.

A fortnight had passed since arriving at Highgarden. The scent of roses was cloying and tickled the nose for people beyond the Reach but Olenna could breathe. King’s Landing stank of piss and decaying shit even from a mile away. How anyone could live with that for the sake of the bloody chair of swords was torture quite undeserved.

_I want to be the queen._

She could still hear Margaery’s quiet declaration of her heart’s truest desire. She had wanted to smack and tear each hair from her idiot son’s head when he sent Tyrell troops to support Renly Baratheon’s claim for the Iron Throne. She had not truly forgiven him for giving that useless man her granddaughter. But Margaery, her dear, precious Margaery, had learned her lessons too well. Renly’s assassination was a stepping stone to becoming queen. And she had been.

House Tyrell may be nipped in the bud with this latest alliance. There was nothing to live for. But she would see that murderous, foolish cunt that was Cersei Lannister removed from the Iron Thrones by any means. Should she die before the golden-haired bitch was removed, she would be at peace knowing that House Tyrell had been instrumental in it.

She looked at Daenerys Targaryen. What her granddaughter would do with dragons and ships.

“Are your dragons to remain breathing monsters gorging on cattle or will you be using them at some point,” drawled Ellaria Sand. “You should take King’s Landing while that lion cunt waits for those cowards to bow to her.”

“My sister would do exactly that,” Tyrion snapped before turning to Daenerys. Speaking more calmly, he implored, “You will never get the people on your side with fire and blood, Your Grace. It is not their fault Cersei is the queen. Commit to the food blockade. That is why we are here.  The Reach feeds nearly all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“We still don’t have all of the seas,” Yara Greyjoy pointed out. “There is no use in starving the population when there’s still the water to transport supplies to them.”

 “Civilians will be lost no matter what,” Ellaria told Daenerys. “Use your dragons. The Greyjoys and my Sand Snakes gave you ships to remove that mad queen from the Iron Throne. We’ve been idling here since arriving, Your Grace. Unless you intend to roast those cunt lords once they’re all gathered in King’s Landing?”

“You can not unleash dragons on King’s Landing!” Tyrion protested. Looking aghast at Ellaria’s suggestion, he shot her a murderous look. “Blood, heedless of whose it is, is your way. Unbent. Unbowed. Unbroken,” he scoffed. “Fuck you and your bastard cunt daughters. What honor there was in the Martell name was gone the minute you murdered Doran. You murdered an innocent, little girl---”

“Innocent!” Ellaria growled, standing up so quickly the chair toppled behind her. “You foisted your brother’s bastard to the prince!”

“My niece never put a spike through his head.”

“One more word and tongues will be cut,” Olenna suddenly spoke. Despite the weariness in her bones, her stare cut through Tyrion and Ellaria like fresh-forged sword. “You blacken your bloody House even more as if it’s never broken two innocent children into pieces. Your sister murdered my heir and my grandson,” she seethed, barely holding on to what little control was left before glaring at Ellaria with disgust. “And my dear, Dorne may honor bastards but you’re in the Reach. You’re a murderous twit hardly different from Cersei. For all we know, you’ve spread your legs for some bastard who’s a brother of yours too.”

Ellaria snarled and made a move to strike Olenna, who did not even blink. Tyrion tried to stop her but Daenerys was first, smoothly stepping in front of her with ice in her purple eyes.

“You have given me ships and recognized me as queen,” she said calmly. “There is nothing of yours I will not hesitate take more of if you take that one step. That includes your life and your daughters.”

Ellaria spat at her feet.

Daenerys looked at her then nodded at someone behind Ellaria. Ellaria squawked as two Unsullied soldiers yanked her by the arms and tried to drag her out of the room.

“Either leave the room on your own accord or I’ll have them bind you and your daughters surrounded by my dragons. They haven’t fed yet.”

“Let me go!” Ellaria demanded. A looked passed between Daenerys and the Unsullied before they released her. As Ellaria righted her clothes while hissing under her breath, Daenerys stepped closer to her. The Dornish woman stood her ground even when Daenerys’ breath kissed her lips.

“Behave like that with me and everyone else in this room and I’ll have your daughters fed limb by limb to my dragons for every minute you refuse to apologize. Talk to me again as you have and you’ll burn before you take another breath.”

Ellaria righted her clothes and left, slamming the door behind her. Yara stood up and addressed Daenerys.

“You swore you will not contest my claim to Pyke. That because I asked it is mine. I am its queen. As queen speaking to a fellow queen, let me say this. You disagree with Ellaria but she’s right,” Yara glanced at the door where Ellaria had walked through before turning to Daenerys. “Starving the population will only be temporary if you don’t control the waters. Let me take the ships and all of the water will be yours.”

“Euron Greyjoy intends to hand the water to Cersei,” Tyrion pointed out. “We don’t question your courage and your capability but your uncle has gone to all the known waters of Westeros and beyond and came back to tell the tale. Your time with us is the first you’ve been the farthest from Pyke.”

“I’ve commanded fleets long before you became Hand to anyone,” she said. To Daenerys, she continued, “The longer we stay here doing nothing, more Houses will side with Cersei and give ships and men. Do the blockade. Let me do what I’ve come to do. But those dragons will have to do more than getting fat and burning cows. I await your command.”

She too left the room. Olenna glanced at Tyrion then Daenerys. “I wish a word with the queen.”

Tyrion nodded and sat down again. But he froze when Olenna looked at him pointedly.

“I shall see myself out, unless the queen wishes for me to stay.” He said, his gaze at Daenerys imploring her to tell him to stay.

“Go, Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys said. She gestured for the Unsullied in the room to follow him.

A beat passed before Olenna spoke up.

“All your life you’ve been taught that the Seven Kingdoms belong to you. Your brother sold you to those painted savages for the army that would help him take it back. But somehow, that army became yours. And more armies. You have abolished slavery. Brought justice. But I ask you. Does that make you queen?”

“I am a Targaryen, Lady Olenna. The Seven Kingdoms is mine.”

Olenna took in every inch of her face, from the unblemished skin pinked by sun, her rounds eyes and full lips. Daenerys met her sharp scrutiny but Olenna still huffed. “Being born a dragon does not make you queen or even a claimant. Your people followed you because they see you as _their_ queen. But are you?”

Daenerys sat down. “You don’t believe I am one.”

“I’m still waiting for that day. I have no reason to doubt how you can bring people together to fight for you. The three beasts make that choice easy. But a queen is more than her ships and allies. More than dragons. Cersei Lannister is scrambling to sway lords to her side, yet she _is_ queen. Do you understand?”

“Lord Tyrion warned me of your thorns, Lady Olenna.”

“Just my thorns?” Olenna was amused.

Daenerys smiled. “You don’t question my claim. I think you believe in what I have come to do. But you are not seeing the queen you want.”

“The Queen this blasted realm _needs_.” Olenna looked away briefly, her voice softening. “A smart man I once knew deemed that wisdom makes one a good king. There is no reason why it should be any different for a queen,” she remarked, turning back to Daenerys. “You do know how to listen, girl. You know when you are out of your element and who to turn to for advice. I applaud you for   your bold and courageous choice in a Hand.”

“But?”

“Why should I tire my old feeble hands in praise for something that seems to have vanished?”

“I wish to take King’s Landing. The Seven Kingdoms is mine.”

Olenna smiled. “Was that permission or a decision?”

 

*****

Morning and night, a squire went to Jaime Lannister’s chambers to help him dress. The indignity of depending on a boy less than half his age to help lace his shirt and breeches had yet to get old. The torture of it intensified when he had to be helped even with the boots, for his one hand could not do anything with the laces, and his gold hand was only an ornament.

He was silent as the boy helped lace the cuffs at the end of his sleeve. Then he dismissed the lad, for what was to happen next should be done only be him. The light bounced off the beautiful golden hand on the table.

A salve was rubbed on his stump, to prevent chafing from having cloth rubbing on it all day. Then he picked up the gold hand, rotating it around his wrist for a good fit. With his remaining hand and then his teeth, it was secured around his wrist.

He was shrugging on a black leather coat when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called out, using one hand to close the crimson ties.

A handmaiden of Cersei’s entered the room. Gone were the flowing hair and soft dresses with billowing skirts. Jaime wasn’t sure how he felt about the women in the court now sporting hair cropped close to their skulls. It looked easier to manage but it was a reminder of what Cersei had gone through in his absence. Why his sister kept her hair short months after the Walk he didn’t know, nor did she think to mention why.

Before they shared as much kisses as words, maybe more. Whispered declarations of love and desire between thrusts of tongue, helpless to the warmth of Cersei’s mouth. _We’ve always been together. We’ll always be together. We’re the only two people in the world._

They were now but never had she been so far away.

The handmaiden gave a little curtsy, her movements a little stiff from her heavy, high-necked black dress in leather.

“The Queen wishes a word with you, my lord.”

“Where?”

“In her chambers.” She made no move to leave. Of course. Cersei was never to be kept waiting.

Jaime followed her out but preceded her in the hallway. They passed by the courtyard, where the painter had finished rendering the map of Westeros. It was another long walk through another hallway before taking the stairs to Cersei’s chambers.

Only The Mountain stood outside her door. Jaime glanced at him, noting the black and silver armor that mirrored the colors his twin had preferred lately. He tried looking into the gap of his helmet for eyes but found only blackness. Nothingness. But there was the chilling sensation of being watched.

The Mountain opened the door and the handmaiden entered first, stepping aside to let Jaime through. He immediately picked up the scent of lavender Cersei so loved. It had been so long since he had been here.

Yet the last time was as clear to him as it had only been yesterday. Cersei swearing to him they would always be together before taking his mouth for a hard, hot kiss. He had been angry over being removed from the Kingsguard, and angrier still at his banishment to Riverrun to end the stand-off begun by Brynden Tullly. Cersei’s mouth fueled his anger into fury.

Neither of them had been gentle. His back still stung from her scratches when he left in the morning. She had been bruised.

Cersei appeared. The sun had just risen, explaining why she remained in her robe. A vivid crimson embroidered with gold lions, Jaime stirred at the sight of her in the colors of their House. She dismissed the handmaiden with a nod, waiting until the door closed before she went to a table where a bottle of wine and two goblets had been prepared.

He looked at her cropped golden hair, missing their waves. But short hair suited some women, he thought, an image of one flaring in his mind before resolutely focusing on his sister. Cersei was still the most beautiful woman but the hardness in her emerald eyes gave him pause.

“You wish to speak to me?” He asked, watching her pour the wine.

Cersei looked at him as she sipped. “You have not come to see me since your return.”

“What are you talking about? We have spoken.”

“Spoken.” Cersei scoffed. “That is all we’ve done. We’ve always done more than speak, brother.”

Realizing why he had been summoned, Jaime looked at the door. “This is not the time.”

“I am queen of the seven kingdoms. I set the time. What’s the matter?” She demanded when he remained silent. “Silence is hardly your chosen mode of response. Oh. I forget. You don’t believe me to be queen of all the seven kingdoms. You would be pleased to know I finally am.”

“I know lords from all over would be coming today to bend the knee to you. But Daenerys and Tyrion are still coming here with dragons and an army backed by Ellaria Sand and Olenna Tyrell. And unless the north’s resolve has melted, you still don’t have all of the kingdoms, Cersei.” Power. It drove Aerys mad. It was no armor for his father when Tyrion shot him. Had his sister not learned?

“It will only be a matter of time before the north falls when faced with the might of all the armies under me. Did I not promise you a dynasty?”

She set the goblet down and faced him.

“If such a dynasty will be true,” he said softly. “How do you propose to make it happen?”

“Do you jest now, my brother?”

“It is a valid question.” He could watch her give birth to their children, but she refused to let him hold any one of them, even that monster Joffrey. But the pain of the loss of Myrcella and Tommen was a constantly twisting knife in the gut.

Father, Myrcella had called him, looking up at him, tall and a lady in his arms. He had never thought that one word could so move him.

“Are you going to declare to everyone that I am your choice?”

“I have never chosen anyone else, Jaime.”

She went to him, her small hand pressing on his chest. When she looked at him as gently as she did now, he was transported back to that inn at Eel Alley. For that one night, they had each other. They were truly the only two people in the world.

“Tell me,” he said as her fingertips caressed his jaw. “If the lords bend the knee to you, will you tell them I am your choice?”

“How can you still doubt me after everything?”

“Why is it so hard for you to say yes? You _are_ queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yes?”

She dropped her hand and turned away from him with a hiss. “I am _the_ queen.”

Jaime grabbed her by the arm, to say more, but she pulled at the collar of his coat and drew him down, parting her lips in welcome. He pressed his lips to hers, his arms sliding around her small waist as her tongue slipped inside his mouth.

She tasted of wine and cloves, making his head spin. Seizing her so tightly that she gasped, he threw her to the floor, shoving her robe open. She pulled him by the collar again while her hand crept to his cock, fingers pulling at the ties of his breeches. Emerald eyes burned as they wrenched the clothes off each other.

“You’ve killed people to return to me,” she panted, fisting his cock. Jaime groaned, burying his face in her neck. “I’ve burned this city to make a world for us.”

Jaime, about to kiss her, realized exactly what she meant. Cersei looked back at him, defiant even with her breasts bared.

Crying out, he yanked her arms over her head. Cersei grunted but she didn’t wrestle free.

“Do you still doubt me, my brother?”

_They were the only two people in the world._

With his golden hand, he caressed her breasts, watching her pink nipples tighten as the cold metal brushed the tender skin. He touched her, daring her to look away in disgust. She just stared back at him wordlessly, the smugness of her expression hinting that she already knew his answer.

She was his reflection in so many ways. Part of him. Fused to him. They were both two people and also one. Jaime lowered his head.

Her emerald eyes were a cool ocean.

Her mouth, as always, was sweet, hot hell.

Jaime Lannister burned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put Daenerys in Highgarden because it seems the logical choice to begin the food blockade. The Reach feeds much of the Seven Kingdoms and there's no way she can do that from Dragonstone. Dragonstone may be a good fortress but it's not exactly on arable land, I think. It doesn't have much natural resources outside of fish. 
> 
> Don't worry, she'll get to Dragonstone at some point.
> 
> ****  
> When Jaime doesn't slap or rant at Cersei after she admits to blowing up King's Landing, it's because his behavior in S& really disgusted me. He ENABLED Cersei. He could have asked more questions about the explosion, could have pressed more about Tommen. But nothing. Bad writing shut him up. But he does admit in a later episode that there's really nothing he can now with Cersei in power. It wasn't enough for me, as a viewer, that's why I have the scene in Cersei's chambers. 
> 
> ****  
> We see Selwyn! Yay!


	4. Lioness Ascending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your seed is still inside me and warm. By night I might have your child, Jaime. You’ve begged for us to be never apart. Now that we will never be, now that we have the freedom, you keep telling me your doubts. Every uncertainty you speak of with regards to my reign takes you another league away from me. You swore to fight until only the two of us are left in this world. Has that changed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twincest banging. 
> 
> You've been warned.

It was truly good having her brother’s cock inside her. The hardest pillar of flesh she’d had, splitting into her cunt in rough, furious strokes that made the crimson and gold ceiling of the chambers darken and brighten before her eyes. She gave herself to the pleasure, words from a not too distant past coming back to her with the rush of a tidal wave. _I fuck my brother because it feels good. I like to do things that make me feel good._

She moaned and thrashed against his body when his lips claimed her nipples. Blood ran hot in her veins, memories of past kisses tugging furiously at the swollen tips swirling in her head. Jaime had  been jealous of their children as they fed from her. He would steal her from their children, ripping her bodice. In between bursts of milk that had filled his mouth, he growled she was _his_ and _only his_. It had scandalized her but the violence of his passion also fueled her own hunger. She had spread her legs willingly, for the longer he was between them, the shorter his temper over the absence of their fucking. It also decreased the chances of Robert finding out and taking their heads.

Now she shuddered as his teeth grazed the puckered tip before tugging it harshly into his mouth.  

Cersei let out a feral groan as she came. Jaime’s mouth was quick to silence her, his body pressing harder on her, cock pushing so deeply that they might never part again. A habit rooted in fear. But she was Queen now, she wanted to say as her cunt rippled around his cock. As long as she was on the Iron Throne, fear and worry would recede into myth.

 _She was Queen._ Perhaps not of _all_ the Seven Kingdoms yet, but she was not about to let her brother know he was right. It was almost hers. She could taste it, as delicious and sweet as the most potent wine, hotter than any kiss they had. Her lips quivered under his mouth when his steel hand captured one of her breasts.

She let him kiss her some more, smiling from the inside because despite his own release his cock was still hard. Wanted her still. Aerys deemed her no better than a servant for Rhaegar. Robert preferred a dead girl. But Jaime, oh her Jaime. He never stopped wanting her. She conveyed her own returning desire by slipping her arms and legs around him, her tongue matching the strokes of his own so she may forget the coldness of his false hand on her skin. His blasted hand—too much of a reminder that there was now a part of Jaime she could never touch, even when he was wedged so deeply inside her.

Their kisses slowed but her hand made a sure descent to his ass, finger sliding up and down along the split before sliding inside. Jaime arched over her in shock and pleasure. She watched him gasp and grunt, her own breath caressing his exposed neck as his cock lengthened inside her cunt. Another warm gush of his seed and then his head dropped on her shoulder.

They lay together on the floor, she on her back, robe opened to expose her wet nipples tightening in the cooling air, her cunt and thighs wet and sticky with his seed. Even with her eyes on the ceiling she knew he looked at her wit tenderness, like he had following the first night she spread her legs for him at that inn in Eel Alley.

She turned to him, expecting his satisfied, cocky smile. Instead he was unsmiling.  

Her brother, bold with the sword until his maiming, uncaring for power destined by his cock, now pleaded caution. What was there to worry? The murderous bitch Sansa Stark, while alive, was at the moment beyond her reach and will never ascend to the throne. That smirking Margaery Tyrell was a pile of ashes. The scheming rose had come the closest to taking the Iron Throne. _Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear_ _._

She stared at him, seeing herself in his emerald eyes, the elegant nose and slim, ruby lips. His worry was killing what pleasure she’d had following the deepening despair of the deaths of her children. Experimentally, she leaned in to kiss him.

He kissed her back.

He would never refuse, he always did as she said. For had she not pleaded with him to hurry fucking her in some dark, desolate corner of the Red Keep lest they got caught? That abandoned tower in Winterfell. . .she had not really wanted to but Jaime’s kisses and whisper of having gone a month without being inside her lured her with very little difficulty. His cock sliding in and out of her soothed her embarrassment of over Robert’s rude treatment of her before the Starks, and her anger that in every corner of the damned, icy north her worthless, foolish king would see Lyanna. She had counted not only in Jaime’s desire but his comfort. With his cock, she was truly whole. Nothing could hurt her.

But it was not comfort she needed now, but for the lion that had been between her legs to be bold and brazen. Robert was gone. Their father. That useless Kevan. As Jaime’s seed dried from her thighs, her thoughts went to the children they had lost.

 Joffrey, Myrcella, even Tommen—their young, beautiful faces haunted her in the night, stabbed her in daylight. Jaime would have to plant more seeds in her. They could finally rule. Be truly lions. A kingdom for them. A new dynasty begun in her name.

A gentle knock behind the door had Jaime glancing at the door. He sighed and got up, gave her a hand. She closed her robe, the silk lashing at her tight nipples. His seed dribbled down her legs. The twins exchanged looks, hers cool as she watched him tie the laces of his breeches with one hand, his with a spark of amusement, hinting at the reckless brother she missed.

They righted their clothes, staring at each other as they finished. Cersei smirked as Jaime’s gaze fell on her breasts. “Come in,” she ordered.

The heavy double doors opened. Maids curtsied at her, murmuring, “Your Grace,” before proceeding to haul an ornate bathtub in the room. More maids followed, carrying pitchers of hot water, soaps and scented oils. They were quick to ready the bath, and even placed a table close by for wine and fruit she might desire while submerged. Cersei looked with satisfaction at the steam rising from the water.

Before leaving, the maids curtsied again. Bernadette, her most trusted, asked, “Will Your Grace need assistance in the bath?”

“There is no need,” Cersei replied. “How go the preparations for the visit of the lords?”

“The hall is being readied, Your Grace, as well as their chambers.”

“See to it that nothing is amiss. Only perfection will please me.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Bernadette bowed and Cersei dismissed her and the others. Once the doors were closed, she slipped off her robe and left it on the floor. She turned to Jaime.

Her shorn golden hair may not be ideal—she knew he misliked it for there was nothing to grab—but the looking glass never lied about her beauty. Her eyes were vivid emeralds though red from difficulty in sleeping. Her lips, a natural ruby color, were redder from their kiss. Her breasts were still firm and full, her waist small before flaring out into womanly hips.

She had expected a smirk mirroring hers, but Jaime’s eyes were on the patch of sticky hair between her legs. Lines formed between his golden eyebrows. The rest of his expression was inscrutable.

“What is it, brother?”

Jaime drew his eyes away from her cunt to look at the door then her. “We should be more careful.”

“Careful? Do you worry about getting caught?” Cersei scoffed.

“The lords are coming here to bow to you,” Jaime said in a tone laced with warning. “That we’ve fucked and had bastards are just rumors. They might change their minds should the truth come out.”

“There is nothing to hide anymore, only that we bide our time.” Cersei turned away to step into the water. The heat was heaven, pinking her skin and drawing her nipples even tighter. “All that was taken from us we will take back and more. I have done what only Father could do from behind some mad dragon.” Picking up a lavender-scented soap, she rubbed it on her slim arm. “Anyone who refuses to bend the knee to me would find his head on the ground.”

“What about the north,” Jaime took a seat by the fireplace, watching her soap her legs. “They will never bend, Cersei.”

“There will be nothing in their bodies to bend with once all lords have sworn to me.” At Jaime’s silence, she slanted him a glance. “You disagree?”

“Cersei, the Seven Kingdoms have been at war for years.”

“I will not have all kingdoms without war.”

“For how much longer? This war you’ve brought upon our doorstep—”

“I?” Cersei seethed, pausing with her cleaning. “I did not fling that child from the tower. I did not lose Myrcella.”

He had the grace to look shocked, at least. She could easily call for his head rather than take his cock. Jaime did not seem to realize that. _Of course. He may love me but still sees me as nothing but a cunt to warm his cock._ She frowned, rubbing her soap harder on her skin.

“Your seed is still inside me and warm. By night I might have your child, Jaime. You’ve begged for us to be never apart. Now that we will never be, now that we have the freedom, you keep telling me your doubts. Every uncertainty you speak of with regards to my reign takes you another league away from me. You swore to fight until only the two of us are left in this world. Has that changed?”

“I don’t want to be apart from you. I _never_ desired to be away from you. But you are Queen. The first of this fucking continent. You can be different from Aegon, from Aerys. Robert.”

“Would you tell me how to rule if I had a cock?”

“You have no idea what’s going on beyond the Red Keep, Cersei. Winter is coming. The population is starving. We are nothing against an angry mob. Loyalties switch faster than taking a breath especially with another Queen promising them food and survival.”

How easily that bitch evaded her. Daenerys now at Highgarden with Olenna and the cunts from Dorne and the Iron Islands. Stores of food had been made years before but now that The Reach had cut off the food supply, King’s Landing and the rest of Westeros were soon to starve.

“You dare speak of that dragon cunt to me?”

“Someone has to tell you the truth.”

“She’d have her tongue on the floor if you had not erred on where she would land, brother. _Dragonstone_ ,” she fumed. “She did not even stay the night. And you were so certain.”

She resumed scrubbing herself. He watched her still.

“Do we need the Seven Kingdoms to be together, Cersei? All I want is you. Never the bloody throne. That never changed.”

Her brother, the romantic fool. The first to scoff at songs and ideas of honor and knighthood yet he clearly lived by those blasted ideals. _I should be the one in armor. I should have a sword rather than a cunt._

“If I am not Queen and walk away from all this, and return to the Rock with you, do you think the thousands of leagues between us and King’s Landing will spare us the chopping block? How can you protect me with just one hand, Jaime?”

She stepped out of the bath and emerged without bothering to wipe her dripping body. She gleamed from the water and bubbles. Puddles trailed after her and wetted the carpets as she went to Jaime, pleased to have startled him. She held his eyes, smug with the knowledge how he could never resist her when his gaze was once again riveted by her cunt.

“I must be queen of the Seven Kingdoms. _For us_.” She whispered, drawing him to his feet. “Your doubts will splinter us rather than give us what we’ve long deserved.”

“No doubts, sister,” he said, his hands rising to caress her face. She narrowed her eyes and pushed them down. She bit his lip at the downcast expression on his face. “I speak only the truth when the rest won’t give it to you. You can trust me and my protection. I’m your Warrior, Cersei.”

“Can I?” She asked, licking his lip as he once again tried to touch her. She gripped him by the wrists, shaking her head slowly. “I need proof.”

“Of what?”

“That you believe in my dynasty.”

Jaime looked back at her.

“Bring me that silver-haired bitch’s eyes so I may drink them from a goblet.” Cersei smiled at the thought. “Bring me Olenna’s head. Then the realm will know, Jaime. I am yours, as you are mine.”

Her eyes glittered as she slid to her knees, making sure her wet body brushed every inch of his clothed form in her descent. Still looking at him, she undid the laces of his breeches. He still smelled of come, and his cock shone with her. She sniffed the sticky golden curls, nuzzled her nose against the velvety column of his cock.

Turning her eyes back to Jaime, she clasped his cock at the root and opened her mouth.

 

******  
For two hours Jaime had fucked Cersei, and for two hours the lords of Westeros waited in the throne room. He stood proud at her side as Lannister guards opened the heavy double doors to let them inside.

With the silver lion crown perched on Cersei’s head, and her body clad in another high-necked black leather dress with gleaming silver details, no one would think that she was still wet with his seed, or her nipples were fat from his suckles. No one suspected that the plumpness of her ruby lips were from the thrusts of his cock. It was just like before yet also different. Jaime smirked as he followed her.  

Cersei strode ahead of him and The Mountain. She glided down the aisle, golden and powerful. Beautiful. Jaime and The Mountain took their positions, flanking her throne as she sat and looked at the faces of the desperate lords. He detected a smug little smile and his own lips twitched again.

From where he stood was a glorious sight, indeed. Lords in their armor, Lannister guards in crimson and gold like him, the new Kingsguard with their black and silver. He could understand why Cersei was not willing to walk away from the Iron Throne. Such power was both hypnotic and a rush. Almost as good as sex.

Yet.

His lips still tingled from their kisses, and he was half-hard with thoughts of having her again. He was drunk with lust and the relief of being free, totally free to be with her and never having to worry about losing their heads. _A lion doesn’t listen to the opinion of sheep._ But he couldn’t help thinking that they need not be here, at the Red Keep. They could be anywhere and still be free at last with each other.

But power. . .his sister had craved it for a long time and he refused to have a part in anything that might make her unhappy. Had his whole life not centered on pleasing her? She need not ask. He would do everything that was possible, right and wrong, for Cersei to never know of any more misery. They had already lost too much, and most cruelly.

He only wished that the price for this freedom they finally had not been too high.

As Cersei coolly received the lords that bent the knee and swore loyalty to her, he tried to identify them by face, by armor. The war had killed many of them and nothing more than children had come to bow before Cersei. Children only a little older than Tommen, or Myrcella’s age. Even Joffrey’s. He saw the terror in their eyes, heard their young bodies rattling under the weight of armor honed just for this occasion. None of the lads had seen battle. Their hold on the sword might still be unsure but they could outmatch him.

Jaime stroked the lion at the pommel, his chest tight as he remembered the last time he had fought with a sword.

 _The last time he had two hands_.

The memory would always be bitter but what was a hand in saving a life? The gods had only come to collect a debt. The hand warmed between Cersei’s thighs, the same hand that crippled the Stark boy. The hand that slew the Mad King.

The hand that kept sapphire eyes open.

He watched Cersei tilt her head as a lord fumbled with his vows. This one was old and from a small, unimportant keep. There was nothing to get from him, no land or grain, no soldiers. He knew the very presence of this man, lord as he was, was an insult to her because of his insignificance.

Sure enough, Cersei waved a hand to dismiss him, bringing him to instant silence.

The eyes in the throne room regarded them with a mix of uncertainty and awe. The golden twins. Perfect mirrors of each other. Jaime and Cersei exchanged glances then she turned her attention back to the next lord to bend the knee.

Cersei knew how to see things through. She will be Queen, that Jaime was almost sure about. And looking at the room filled with men armored in their finest as called for in meeting with the Queen, Cersei was, in effect, already the leader of the realm.

But what had happened to bring them here, on this very day—it was too much.

_The dead are dead. There is nothing I can do._

As a soldier, Jaime did not give the dead much thought. He never regretted stabbing Aerys in the back. He did not think about that distant Lannister cousin.

It was those who had breathed their last far from his hand that haunted him. The candlelight in his chambers brought to mind Catelyn Stark’s throat slit wide and blood pouring out. The head of the direwolf sewn on the head of her son’s body. Ned Stark’s head on spike. _Wolves devoured by lions._

His gaze shifted past the columns of Kingsguard, clad in black and silver armor, flanking the aisle, followed by Lannister soldiers dressed like he was in their crimson and golden armor.  As Cersei dismissed the lord, his thoughts went to the last surviving Stark. Safe in the North, protected because of the vow he had made. He could not stop stroking the pommel, thumb sliding and pressing on the textured surface as he thought of the blade’s twin and the hand that wielded it.

He glanced back at Cersei, savage and beautiful. Perhaps it was good he had not witnessed her humiliation. But she would remember who had jeered at her. He would be happy to take their heads.

He might as well practice. Eyes and a head to prove his loyalty.

At least she had not commanded him for their departed father’s head. She did not wish to burn the population in their beds.

But she almost had. Information regarding the Sept explosion was scant but not all Wildfyre caches Aerys had stored under King’s Landing had been found. Jaime knew this from Tyrion. Yet for them to explode as they had, and at such a crucial time. . .

He should hate Cersei. Her actions had taken their baby boy. His mind and heart were at war over a choice that should be easy. Had it not been his dream since their lips first touched back in Casterly Rock? Before he knew of choices and their consequences, Cersei was already his choice. And he believed, he was hers. Why did his doubts refuse to leave?

 _Eyes and a head._ Gifts for Cersei he would give without question. He was still waiting for the thrill of being able to please her, of getting all he had ever wanted.

Cersei dismissed the lord and the next came forward. The throne room was suddenly silent and Jaime saw why.

Randyll Tarly.

House Tarly was the second richest in The Reach, and their wealth could rival the Lannisters.’ Looking at Randyll reminded Jaime of Tywin, somewhat: the displeased expression, the grim set of jaw. Randyll was rough where Tywin was elegant, and now attired in burnished but practical armor instead of gleaming and decorative.

Randyll got down on his knee before Cersei. The young man standing next to him did the same. He was taller and broader and wore a matching armor. This would be his son, Jaime thought.

“Lord Tarly,” Cersei began. “Your presence is unexpected. What say your Lady Olenna?”

“Your Grace, my loyalty is to Westeros,” Randyll Tarly replied. “And to the Queen who will protect the continent.”

“I would like to believe your words. Where is the assurance you have not come here to spy?”

“I dare not dishonor Your Grace in such a manner. Nor in any way. I have come here to pledge my life and my honor, to fight for Your Grace and serve until the Stranger calls upon me. I have brought my son Dickon, who shall fight in your name and honor you as well.”

Randyll Tarly bent his knee, as did his son. Cersei looked at Jaime and he nodded at her.

“Rise, Lord Tarly. Lord Dickon,” Cersei said. She waited until the two men straightened up. “You honor me with your loyalty. It shall not go unrewarded.”

“I am grateful, Your Grace. I aim to be your worthy soldier.”

“I shall remember.” Cersei drawled.

Barely had she finished speaking when the double doors suddenly swung open. Eyes went to the tall, rugged-looking man in aged leather and older boots, revealed as he strode with languid, drunken grace towards the throne. Outraged whispers and murmurs echoed in the hall.

By the time the Lannister troops came together to block him, his name was ringing in the hall: Euron Greyjoy.

“I wish to pledge my loyalty and allegiance to the Queen,” he announced, the smile on his face not reaching his maniacal eyes.

Another glance was exchanged between Jaime and Cersei before she looked at The Mountain. He positioned himself a bit more to her front and gave a wordless signal to the rest of guards to fall back. The lords shook their heads. Randyll Tarly and his son got to their feet, casting dubious looks at Euron Greyjoy as he sauntered forward. Still wearing that cold, crazed smile, he made a deep, dramatic bow.

“If you believe that placates me you are gravely mistaken. Your rudeness is a dishonor to the Queen and every lord in this room,” Cersei said. The lords murmured their approval. Jaime smirked at Euron, who remained bent.

Euron looked up at her briefly but remained as he was. “If I may speak, my Queen.”

Cersei looked at Jaime. For once a look of uncertainty scudded across her face.

“You dare to request permission to speak, to let your breath foul this room when you’ve murdered your family with impunity?” Jaime demanded.

“You should try it sometime.” This time, Euron straightened up and winked at Jaime. “My brother would not recommend it, but I do.”

“You were not given permission to speak,” Cersei reminded him, her voice tight.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Euron said, his tone hardly regretful. “But I only wish to confirm what your Kingslayer brother has said. Yes, I have murdered family. It feels good. In fact,” he added, pointing at Jaime. “I should thank you for. . .your _hand_ in it.”

Jaime refused to be provoked. But when Cersei did not snap at him, he spoke. “You give praise to one who slew your own family?”

“You were glorious to watch.” Euron turned back to Cersei. “I know all there is to know in beginning a reign riddled with so much doubt. I know how it is for family to turn against you. The moment I was chosen Lord of the Iron Islands, my own niece and nephew turned against me. Stole my best ships and ran, that’s what they did. Sailed them across the world and gave them to the Dragon Queen, so she could bring her armies here to attack you.” He pointed at Cersei and took one step up towards the Iron Throne.

The Mountain got read to draw his sword. Randyll Tarly stepped forward. Euron chuckled.

“You and I, Your Grace, we’ve suffered treason at the hands of a family member. Now murdering them would be sweetest wine. I crave it. Don’t you? Since it appears all our treasonous family members are fighting the same side, I thought we rightful monarchs could murder them together.”

Jaime, disbelieve that Cersei was letting the fucking pirate address her so, remarked, “You’re not the rightful monarch though, are you? Greyjoys always rebel against the throne to be rightful monarchs but you’ve always been soundly defeated. Didn’t you start that rebellion by sailing to Casterly Rock and burning the Lannister fleet?” Relishing Euron’s silence, he stepped forward until they were eye to eye. “You certainly caught us there. Very smart move on your part. Of course, we all made it to the Iron Islands anyway.”

“Which is why I knew you were a sight to watch as you cut down my family members one by one. Masterful dancing, if I may so. ‘The best in the world, no one can stop him.’ I didn’t believe until I saw you rush through the beach.”

Jaime turned to Cersei. “This man has confessed to kinslaying. He doesn’t deserve an audience with you nor any kind of freedom.”

“Aye, I have no regrets for what I’ve done, Your Grace. And the only freedom I want is to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.” Euron once again got down on his knee, grinning at her. “What worth there is in my pledge rests on you, Your Grace. But I have come here with an offer of a thousand ships. . .and two good hands.”

Jaime would have cut him from where he was if Cersei had not spoken.

“I decline your pledge and all that comes with it.”

“Why?”

Cersei spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper but Jaime knew she was fuming. “You’re not trustworthy. You’ve broken promises to allies before and murdered them at the nearest opportunity. You murdered your own brother.”

Euron stood up, shrugging. “You have to try it to know of the pleasure and peace that follows it, Your Grace. I don’t expect you to trust me outright. You need proof of my honest intentions. In my experience, the surest way to a woman’s heart is with a gift, a priceless gift. I won’t return to King’s Landing until I have that for you.”

Another cold, heartless smile and he backed away from the throne before turning on his heel. Jaime looked to Cersei, expecting her to call for the guards to restrain him for his rude behavior.

Instead, Cersei looked after him, her eyes long to part from the double doors he had walked through.

 

*****  
“You can not leave!”

Jon sighed turned to walk down the hall leading to his chambers. Sansa looked at Brienne then charged after him, going through the hallway with little trouble in her heavy skirts and the growing darkness. She saw him turn around the corner, right after the torch that flickered weak yet valiantly from the evening air gaining strength. Behind her, Brienne lumbered in her boots, determined to protect her even when there was no clear sign of danger.

“Will you not leave until I’m done speaking to you?” Sansa demanded when she caught up with Jon outside the door of his chambers.

“I already know you will not approve. Why should I still hear it?”

“Because you are King and hope you are wise. A king must listen, perhaps not to all voice but to one who believes in him. Jon,” Sansa grabbed him by the arm when he tried to leave again. “You can not leave Winterfell so soon after we’ve taken it back. You’re the King!”

Jon looked like he was going to answer but suddenly stopped when Brienne reached them. He startled Sansa with the hostile look shot at the tall, woman warrior.

“Brienne has my confidence. I trust her.”

“She is here to protect you.”

“Because of the vow she swore to my mother and to me. You should know. You’ve made vows yourself. You remind us everyday that as King it is your duty to keep us safe. To protect us.” Sansa was quaking from shock and frustration over the latest decision her half-brother had made before consulting her. “Tell me how we can trust in your protection when you are absent?”

“I’m leaving to fulfill my duty, Sansa. We need dragonglass to fight the dead coming for us.”

“What about Cersei? Being that neither of us are in King’s Landing right now, do you think she will just wait? As we speak, she is gathering the lords to her side. Amassing an army. How are we to fight then without our king?”

“The people will fight, whether armies of the dead or the living because you are their Queen.”

Sansa, ready to press him to change his mind, could only stare back in shocked silence.

“In my absence, you are Queen in the North.”

“Jon—”

“There is no one else I can charge with a mission this sensitive. It has to be me. Only I can give Daenerys the true account and emphasize the need to defend ourselves. She also has dragons.”

“Dragons in the south and the dead rising in the far north.” Sansa turned away, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had thought the daily abuse at the hands of Joffrey had been punishment. Her repeated rapes by Ramsay a sign that the gods had truly deserted.

But now there was war coming for them at all sides. _Winter is coming._ The words of her house, speaking of the direness of life in winter. Perhaps it spoke of more.

And Jon was going to leave her alone.

“If you thought to placate me with leadership of the north in your absence you’ve made a miscalculation,” Sansa told Jon. “You believe I do not support you that I am scheming to rid you of power. I only implore that you listen to me, Jon. I have no need for titles.”

“I trust you.”

“Do you?”

“Shit, Sansa—” Jon exploded, betraying the depths of the temper he had been curbing all this while. Shocked by his language, he turned and pressed the double doors of his chambers open.

“Do not follow me inside,” Sansa told Brienne.

“As you wish, my lady,” Brienne said.

Sansa closed the doors behind her and stared at Jon. He strode back and forth on the worn but thick carpets before turning to her.

“I will announce to the lords before I depart that you will be Queen in the North and their leader in my absence,” he said. “Do not try to persuade me from it again, Sansa.”

“That was never my intention,” she protested. “Merely to remind you of your duties. It is the people in the north that you should serve first, not the entire Westeros.”

“Do you not think I’m going to the Queen for Westeros?  We will be first to face that dreaded army, Sansa. None of us will survive without the right weapons.”

“What if they come for us in your absence, Jon? What good would be the dragonglass?”

“Valyrian Steel can kill them. Your knight has one in her possession.”

“Only Brienne.”

“Perhaps if you could persuade Jaime Lannister to join her then you’ll have two.”

“I admire your ability to still find something to jest about.”

“It is not. And you are mistaken if you think I made the decision to leave so easily. But it the only one that can be made. I have to go. I have to procure the dragonglass.”

“If you trusted me you could have charged me to speak to Daenerys. Tyrion is her Hand. We are still married.”

Jon shook his head. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Sansa.”

“You are one to me.”

“Only to you. Even your knight disagrees.”

Jon went to her and kissed her on the forehead. “Do not let me leave with anger and misunderstanding between us, Sansa. I am King and have no need of your blessing, yet I ask. Do I have it?”

She nodded, bracing herself for another kiss, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Lord Baelish would have done the same, but Jon was nothing like him.

Two days later, the lords of the north and the Vale were once again gathered in the great hall. Jon charged Sansa with the responsibility of taking care of Winterfell and the entire region in his absence, and emphasized she was the Queen in the North.

Sansa, with Brienne following close by, walked Jon to his horse. He would be taking five of the most trusted men with him.

“Return once you have the dragonglass,” she told him as he swung up on the horse. “As Queen, it is my first command.”

“I shall,” Jon told her. He was about to speak when something caught his eye. Sansa turned.

Lord Baelish. Lurking an appropriate distance away yet watching their exchange.

Jon was frowning when she looked back at him. “Does your knight guard you when you sleep?”

“Yes. Brienne switches with her squire, Podrick Payne.”

“How is he with the sword?”

“Brienne is far more superior but without Podrick the Bolton soldiers might have dragged me back here,” Sansa answered.

“See to it she guards your door until I return, Sansa. You are Queen and I trust in you to fulfill all duties it requires. Some people might forget that. Tell me I did not make the wrong decision by remaining unharmed when I am not here to protect you.”

“I know exactly what Littflefinger wants, Jon.” Sansa assured him. “He will not hurt me.”

Jon still looked unsure but left, anyway. Sansa stared after him and his men. Then the guards closed the gates and she turned away.

As soon as she did, her eyes found Petyr Baelish looking at her. A pleasant expression, and accompanied by the courtly bow he gave her before leaving.

“Brienne,” Sansa said, without looking at her. “Do you remember what you swore to me?”

“I never forget, my lady.”

They looked at each other. Sansa knew Brienne understood though she had not said a single word about it.

Sansa returned to the warmth of the castle, with Brienne at her side.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the previous chapters have been heavily centered on Jaime and Cersei, primarily because I wanted to flesh out some more what had gone on between the twins which the show never really did.
> 
> A thing that really bothered me about Season 7 is Jaime had willingly enabled Cersei and the violence of her rule. I rewatched from Season 1 to 7 and realized that one way that Cersei keeps Jaime at her side is with the promise of going public with their relationship. Remember in the Season 4 finale, when Jaime was shocked that Cersei still blamed Tyrion for the death of their mother? He was quite resistant to Cersei until she revealed she had told Tywin about their relationship. 
> 
> In Season 6, before Jaime left for Riverrun, Cersei more or less called back to the speech Jaime gave to her back in Season 1, where he swore to kill everyone to get between them until they were the only two people left in the world. In Season 5 Jaime tried to convince Cersei they must remain together but she never listened--I try to call back to that scene when Cersei takes a bath in this chapter. 
> 
> In Season 7, we get two instances of Cersei openly flouting their relationship. First is Episode 3, when she lets Bernadette in her chambers without telling Jaime to get dressed or even hide what they had done. In episode 5, she promises Jaime to tell people he's the father of her baby, and I believe in another episode, Tormund even mentions that she fucks Jaime--so Cersei has confirmed all those rumors and the entire Westeros knows. 
> 
> So to me, it seems that Cersei knows that luring Jaime back to her side means promises of telling the world about them. It is clearly something that Jaime wants. While he doesn't really state so in the show, in the books he implores Cersei to tell he is her choice. Cersei is resistant--again, this is in the books. In the show, she's not exactly resistant. 
> 
> Adding this all up, I realize that this is probably why Jaime, rather than opposing Cersei, remains at her side in Season 7 although at the point where the books end right now, he has no desire to return to her. He truly believes in her reign and now that they are openly fucking and with a baby on the way, he is fused to her even more. However, you have to watch the previous seasons to realize this, I think. Season 7 did shit to Jaime and Cersei. Well, to every character! 
> 
> That's why for this chapter, I try to get in Jaime's head, and also Cersei's. He truly loves Cersei and is willing to do what it takes for her to tell the Seven Kingdoms that all those rumors about them are true. It is so different from Book!Jaime and honestly, I find it pathetic and a disservice. 
> 
> This fanfic was written for the purpose of giving the storylines from Season 7 a bit more exploration. To try to be fair for Jaime. I think out of all the characters, he is the one to get the shittiest adaptation.
> 
> While I will have to be faithful to some TV Canon elements, I will be diverging too. Like, Cersei and Jaime never kiss by the Westeros map in Chapter One. Nor does Daenerys settle at Highgarden, as shown in the previous chapter. There is no scene in the show where Randyll Tarly bows before Cersei. I added these scenes for the purpose of exploring Jaime and Cersei and bringing them to an end that makes sense and is final, rather than a lovers' spat. 
> 
> My problem too with how Jaime and Cersei were portrayed in Season 7 was the TIME. They bang in Episode 3 and by Episode 5 she's knocked up? While we're supposed to intuit that they didn't bang just once, as a viewer I would have liked one more scene of them together intimately. I mean, when Episode 3 ends Jaime is already in Highgarden! How much time passed between the time they banged after the murder of Ellaria and the Sand Snakes, then subsequent bangs, before Jaime left for Highgarden?
> 
> ******  
> Obviously I ripped some lines from the show! Beginning in Chapter One!


	5. The Lady of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What power? It had just made her a target of abuse. Her body, loved and protected by her family, her beauty that gave everyone and herself pride, her name, had put her in some list for endless torment. Where was the Warrior? The Maiden? Father and Mother. . .these gods had abandoned her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> An update after who knows how long! This is a lot shorter than the previous chapters because I focus only on two characters and where they are--Arya and Sansa. I wrote the Arya scene with the Lannister soldiers differently from the show but it still goes where the show needed it to go. With Sansa, I did some changes with her scenes of leadership in Winterfell. You'll see!

“Proper wine. For proper heroes.”

Walder Frey faded gaze were slits of impatience and annoyance watching the young girl, his newest and youngest wife, poured wine into his goblet. He snorted, hand curling into a fist as it readied to hit her for being slow. There were other ways to get her moving, he remembered, chuckling as he grabbed her by the hip.

She whimpered, stiffening as he raised her skirt to know the fresh, young warmth of her thighs. He laughed as she finished, her eyes big and terrified over what she knew he would do. Instead, Walder shoved her to the floor and grabbed the goblet, sloshing some of the wine on her as she lay on the floor.

“Get back to your chair and just be the pretty useless thing that you are,” he snapped, making the men laugh in the room. He sipped, nodded his satisfaction over the wine and gestured at the other servant girls to begin pouring it into other goblets.

“I’m proud of you lot,” Walder began, holding up his goblet as he stood up. “You’re my family, the men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding.”

Cheers left the mouths of men, along with fists punching the air, or pounding the table in a burst of manic camaraderie and black pride. Walder’s smile looked to be between grimace and a sneer. He glared at his wife as she crawled back to her seat. She bowed her head, folded her hands on her lap.

“Yes, yes. Cheer. Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her baby. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home.” As the hall sunk in silence, he continued, “But—you didn’t slaughter every one of the Starks. No. No, that was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem.” He looked at their confused faces with disgust. “Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe.”

As soon as he finished speaking, one of the men suddenly gasped and fell to the floor, writhing and frothing at the mouth. It triggered the rest to cough and gasp, hands scratching at their throats, a few even taking fork or knife to it in order to get air. He smiled as they cried for their mothers, for the Seven. Pleased, he slowly plucked at the skin at the bottom of his chin, held it firm then pulled it off.

It wasn’t the warm, wine-spiced air of the great hall at The Twins that greeted Arya Stark as she woke up with a gasp. It was ice. Thrusting into her mouth like a sure blade.

She sat up, blinking at the gray sunlit forest. The trees stooped from the weight of snow and their gloom over the pale light of the sun. The ground was white, if not for specks of green and earth one must squint to see.

Her bedroll was damp from the cold. The fire she had lit last night ashes and smoke.

Her horse, the fastest and strongest stallion from Walder Frey’s stables, whined in hunger. She took the reins and brought it to the river for drink, then scanned the area for food for herself and the beast. Her map was in her head, her lodestar the memory of home and what it remained. Through whispers of the common folk, Winterfell and the rest of the north was back in Stark hands, for Ned Stark’s bastard son and his surviving daughter had somehow managed to raise an army to overthrow the more superior forces led by Ramsay Bolton.

Arya would have to see it to believe it.

“Come, boy,” she murmured to the horse, tugging at the reins gently to stroke him. The horse grunted as she rubbed her nose against his cheek. “We’ll find an inn. Get you a warm stable and fresh hay. Me a warm bed. Won’t it be nice to sleep without having to worry about snakes crawling up our legs?”

She led the horse back to the tree where she had slept. As she took her bedroll, the heavy gallop of a dozen or so horses thundered into the quiet of the early morning. Her hand automatically went around Needle’s small pommel as the gleaming horses and their riders armored in the blood-red crimson of House Lannister approached. She tensed, a name banging in her head.

_Cersei. . ._

It was too late for her to hide. They were all soldiers, no Lannister cunt among them. But the soldier riding ahead of them suddenly held up his hand and stopped a few feet before her. The cloak hid Arya’s grip on the pommel but she was ready to spring should she need to defend herself.

One of the soldiers leaped down his horse and approached her, his hand lifted in a gesture of peace. “Are you lost?” He asked.

“Lost?” She was startled by the question. “No. I’m on my way home.”

“You’re lucky, little girl. We’ve been sent here to protect what peace there is after Lord Frey’s death. We’re headed to the Riverlands,” he added, gesturing at the other men. Arya counted nine others. “We can offer you protection for as far as we can take you with us. It’s not right for a young girl to be traveling alone on these roads alone.”

“You’re Lannister soldiers,” Arya pointed out.

One of the soldiers still on the horse, overhearing her, said, “Aye. We’re Lannister soldiers, alright. We have nice armor and clothes but we’d all rather be home with our families. My wife will give birth soon. I would like to be there when she has a baby girl.”

“How do you know she will have one? A girl?”

“I hope she does. Sons will always have to fight in wars of powerful and rich men. Daughters will only look after their fathers. Girls get to live.”

“We have food,” the soldier who had approached her said. “And provisions for your horse too. I swear to the Seven we’re good men.” He held out his gloved hand to her. “My name is Edd.”

Arya looked at his hand then the other men. They were young, not much older than she was. They didn’t have the darkness of that cunt Trant, nor the cruelty of the Hound. They were lads consigned into a war when they would much rather tend to their farms and be with their families. A humble life but they were the masters.

There was no reason to lie. She was going home. She shook Edd’s hand.

“Arya.”

 

*****  
  
Jon had been gone for weeks.

Sansa never craved leadership as a child. She was taught to run a household, to keep servants and the people fed, serve her husband and have his children. The skills taught to a _lady._

As she walked through Winterfell examining the armors and weapons built by smiths, she reflected how nothing of the skills she had been taught had saved or protected her. Knowing her stitches did not keep her family together. Having beautiful handwriting was used in writing the note to Robb begging him to bend the knee to save their father. The compliments and songs composed celebrating her beauty did not protect her from the blows and abuse of Meryn Trant. The grace in her movements had made her a target of rapers back in King’s Landing. If not for the Hound---

But all he had done was delay and protect her from worst punishment.

She used to love baths. Now she dreaded them and would plunge her body in the warm water without looking at herself. The scars had healed but she still felt the bite of Ramsay’s teeth on her nipples. Theon’s tongue in her cunt as Ramsay watched them with a sick brilliance in his eyes. The painful thrusts of Ramsay’s cock into parts of her body where he can put it in, his cold, clammy hand muffling her screams. Cersei Lannister told her of the power between her legs.

What power? It had just made her a target of abuse. Her body, loved and protected by her family, her beauty that gave everyone and herself pride, her _name_ , had put her in some list for endless torment. Where was the Warrior? The Maiden? Father and Mother. . .these gods had abandoned her.

As Sansa peered more closely at the freshly-crafted armors, Ser Yohn Royce approached her. “Milady,” he said, giving her a bow.

“Ser,” she said, picking up one of the breastplates. “Do you think this is sound? It’s metal all over. Won’t it freeze in the winter. . .when we fight the undead?”

“Metal can be most unpleasant and won’t help the soldier fight, that is true,” he said, looking taken aback that she was asking him for advice. Her Aunt Lysa probably never did. “It must be lined with leather, if I may say so, milady, to at least give him some protection from the cold.”

The head smith had approached them then. Sansa nodded at the older soldier and turned the smith. “This is fine craftsmanship. But they should be lined with leather too, for the winter.”

“At once, my lady.”

Sansa picked up her skirts and walked ahead, Ser Royce following her. “You were taught well, Lady Sansa. I have heard that the granaries are packed and we have enough food to last us for three years.”

“If the wars only last for that long,” Sansa remarked, taking note of the snow thickening the ground. “It is best that we have more rather than be left scrambling and starving. How goes the training of the children?”

“Your lady knight has been most helpful, as well as her squire. I envy not just her steel but her strength.” His smile was almost proud, like a father’s. “Most fathers would be disappointed being unable to marry off their daughters. In this instance, I believe Lord Selwyn Tarth deserves all the pride and honor.”

“Brienne is the best warrior. Loyal too.” Sansa agreed. “She seems a knight from the songs.”

Ser Royce seemed to agree with a smile. Sansa stopped and turned to him. “Ser, might I speak to you?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Sansa began to speak when she saw Petyr watching them from the balcony. He stood there, smirking like a man with a secret. And he does have secrets, she thought, remembering that she had a part in them too.

Secrets did not scare her. Nor their revelation. It was the unknown she worried about.

Seeing her unease, Yohn glanced at him then back to her.

“I am loyal to House Arryn, to Lord Jon Arryn and your aunt Lysa. I serve Lord Robyn. It is in them where my loyalty lies, Lady Sansa. The knights of the Vale are here at the command of Lord Robyn, your cousin. By extension I shall be loyal to you too.” He glanced at Petyr again. “I would like to believe that there is honor in my service and loyalty, rather than being mercenary about it.”

Sansa stared at him, surprised with herself that she was not too shocked. He did not owe Lord Baelish any loyalty. In some way, she had always known.

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Petyr began to approach them. Now that Yohn had spoken to her with honesty, he did not hide his dislike for the other man. Sansa granted him a graceful exit.

“Your advice on lining the armor with leather is sound,” she told him. “Ensure that this is how our armor will be done from now on. Soldier who fight should face the Stranger with courage rather than shudders.”

The old knight bowed and gave Petyr a brief nod. Petyr grinned at his departing figure then at the bustle surrounding them. Sansa turned to walk and he followed her.

“If you wish to speak to me, Lord Baelish, do it now. I have people and the entire region to run and protect,” Sansa said briskly.

“You wear it so well,” he remarked.

“What?”

“Ruling. It is quite unexpected, Lady Sansa. But your parents would be proud.”

“I don’t rule to make them proud, Lord Baelish. I am a Stark of Winterfell and this is my responsibility. Now if there is no more from you, I must check we have enough food to last the war and winter.”

She was about to leave him when a commotion by the gates drew her attention. The guards were yelling, trying to restrain a hysterical man on horseback from approaching further. Things coming to a standstill, Sansa rushed forward.

“What goes on here?” She demanded to the guards.

“This man,” one of the guards grunted, knotting the horse’s reins around his fist. “He insists on seeing your lady knight, my lady. He claims to have been sent by her father.”

“Brienne?” Sansa turned to the horseman. He smelled foul and he looked like he wouldn’t last on his horse for another second. His brown cloak looked thin and marked with holes, although she could tell from the cloth and stitching it used to be fine. His white hair seemed a tangle of cotton. She looked at his cloak again, noting the faded stitches of sunbursts and crescents.

“You are Lady Sansa Stark?” The man asked, his voice weak.

Seeing that he was harmless, Sansa quickly ordered the guards to help him down from the horse. But they held him, preventing him from moving.

“A letter, I have a letter,” the man croaked, turning his head side to side, probably to point at the letter in one of his packs. “My lady, I have been on the road for close to two moons already. The Evenstar himself, my Lord Selwyn, tasked me with this letter for his daughter, the Lady Brienne. The Seven forgive me but I was supposed to stay and fight with my lord—”

“My lady, he rambles nonsense—” one of the guards holding him up protested.

“Stop and let him speak!” Sansa ordered. “You can see he means no harm. Unhand him. Now!”

The guards looked at each other then at someone behind Sansa. She looked around and saw Ser Yohn Royce and Petyr. Ser Royce nodded at the guards and they released the man, who immediately fell to his knees. Sansa quickly knelt before him.

“You look for my knight,” she said. “What business do you have for her?”

“I am Goodwin, my lady. Maester-at-arms of Evenfall Hall. I taught the Lady Brienne—” He suddenly paused, having seen someone past Sansa’s shoulder. He looked relieved and he staggered to his feet. Sansa straightened up too.

He had seen Brienne. Her hair was messy and she was flushed from teaching the children to fight. She swooped to them, her dark brown cloak flying about her. Her shock and confusion was disconcerting to Sansa.

“Lady Sansa, this is the man who taught me the sword. Goodwin,” she took his hand in both of hers and stared at him. “What brings you so far north?”

Goodwin suddenly burst into tears.

Dread bore into Sansa like The Wall, crashing and obliterating her. She could only watch as the old man once again collapsed to his knees but Brienne catching him and keeping him upright. But his pain was so much that even the mighty warrior could not keep him completely upright.

Goodwin hugged the ground. His sobs threatened to shake the walls of Winterfell.

“Goodwin, please!” Brienne knelt before him. “What—what has happened?”

Goodwin shook his head. “Cersei Lannister demanded that every lord in Westeros to bend the knee.”

The breath was knocked out of Sansa.

“Your father refused.”

All the color was wiped from Brienne’s face.

Goodwin sobbed anew. _“Tarth is taken, my lady Brienne.”_

Sansa could only watch helplessly as her knight, her protector, fell apart with every word Goodwin whispered. Her heart broke too seeing the wobble in Brienne’s chin as she struggled to prevent tears from falling.

 “Lord Selwyn was the only lord to refuse and Cersei Lannister has called on this debt. I am so very sorry, Lady Brienne. The Evenstar charged me with bringing you his letter. I would have stayed at his side if not for this last duty he had requested of me.” Goodwin hung his head. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”  

As he cried on the snowy ground, Brienne stared at him. She was breathing hard, her pale face once again acquiring color. Sansa reached out a hand to her—to what, to comfort? To hold her?

Brienne’s face crumpled. Sansa pulled her hand back.

Brienne’s scream of pain was the loss and devastation everyone in Winterfell had held since the beginning of the war. Or perhaps, far earlier—a war begun as soon Eddard Stark agreed to be Hand of the King and took his daughters with him to that wretched hell that was King’s Landing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project I've been preparing myself for a while. Canon Continuation is difficult for me--there's so much to sieve through and I know I'll just never get it right. Canon Divergent seems the best way for me to go, and please bear with me for the mistakes I will surely make!
> 
> Since this is a different take, it follows that there will be different interpretations of characters, as well as changes in the timeline, description, etc. I know there's no pleasing everyone but I do have a specific narrative. So, for example, if you're a big fan of Character A and my rendition doesn't follow your headcanon, then there's nothing I'll be doing to satisfy you. I suggest instead that you read other stories that subscribe to your vision, or better yet, to write it. Again, this is Canon Divergent too. 
> 
> *****  
> Per my tag how this is an attempt to clean up the mess of Series 7, I will be taking some lines from the show, and the books, and then throwing in my own. In the chapter you just read, I found the first scene between Jaime and Cersei in the last season dissatisfying. After Jaime points out that they never talked about Tommen and Cersei goes off on how she loved their children and are dead, they shift back to, "Okay, where were we about alliances?" 
> 
> So what I do here is, besides trying to get into Cersei's mindset, I flesh out that scene more. I actually expected Cersei to be quite irrational in accusing Jaime of leaving her alone to deal with the High Septon mess, much like how she accused him of abandoning her in Season 4, Episode 1. I also want to lead up to the twins resuming their sexual relationship (not that it really ended), hence for the scene where Cersei and Jaime kiss in the courtyard. Simply put, I'm filling in the blanks!
> 
> *****  
> This is a project I've been preparing for. I posted the first chapter but I can't guarantee regular updates. But I do know I'll be done before the series finale returns. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Apologies that I can't update as quickly as my other stuff!


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